Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name
by Lord of Kavaka
Summary: Part 3 of the PRIVATE EYES series. They know his name. He knows theirs. Now Detective Kate Beckett and her boyfriend, CIA Agent Rick Castle, must work together to bring down the man responsible for her mother's death. Meanwhile, Ray Kilmer (aka Cole Maddox) seeks revenge on his former employers. AU. Spy Castle. Castle Ficathon 2019. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

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_**Prologue**_

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_When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me  
__By the merciless eyes I've deceived.  
_— Chris Cornell, _You Know My Name_

* * *

It was raining.

Somehow that seemed appropriate after the events of the previous weeks. The Vice President of the United States had been assassinated. The nation was in mourning. All the top agencies were on high alert, reassessing every threat with a fine-tooth comb, double checking the very minutia of gathered intelligence to gage it for possible dangers. After delivering a televised address to the American people from the Oval Office, POTUS had been moved to a secure location until the Secret Service, the FBI, and Homeland Security were reasonably certain no other attacks would occur.

A flash of light illuminated the gray sky. Standing in the shadows of the building, bundled up in a nondescript raincoat and hood, CIA Officer Rick Castle counted the seconds until the rolling thunder sounded. A handful of those seconds later, the crackle echoed through the narrow canyon of buildings. Pursing his lips, he narrowed his eyes. It was close. His phone buzzed inside his pocket, and he ducked under the awning. His fingers skimmed over the smooth flat surface of the obsolete looking flip-phone—the TCD-74—a special communications device provided to him by the Company. The CIA had been offered an updated model several times over the years, but Castle preferred the older, more reliable TCD-74. One reason being that it was damn near impossible to trace.

Flipping the phone open he glanced down at the screen.

It read: _Back entrance. 5 minute window. Good luck._

Castle grinned, and sent a thank you back to his friend, knowing that Martin Danberg had stretched his neck out on this one. He really owed the guy for all the assistance he had provided during the last year or so, ever since they uncovered Agent Sophia Turner as a double agent.

Shutting the flip phone, Castle tucked the device back into his side pocket, and glanced around, satisfied no one was watching. The rain helped keep people off the streets, but not the cars. If anything, it made the already horrendous traffic jams even worse. Hunching his shoulders, he hustled down the sidewalk, appearing to all the world like any other pedestrian in a hurry to get out of the tremendous downpour.

Reaching the corner of the target building, Castle slipped around into the back alley. With his hands shoved in the pockets of his raincoat, he ambled past two dumpsters and a stack of wooden pallets. Flicking his keen eyes up, he spotted the dingy door. He paused, closed his eyes and counted the seconds in his head.

_Three… two… one… _

A dull click sounded, and Castle twisted the handle, pulling the door open and sliding inside. Moving quickly, he pushed back his hood and unzipped his coat, peeling it off to reveal a pristine tux underneath. He couldn't help but smirk cockily as he quietly deposited the wet raincoat on a wall hook. He always felt a little like James Bond in these situations. He remembered watching Sean Connery in the iconic role, emerging from a wetsuit in a dapper tuxedo, looking as suave and debonair as ever. Something, to which, Richard Castle always aspired to.

Casually adjusting his bowtie, he sauntered through the quiet and empty kitchen. Usually a place like this would be hopping with activity, but not today. He moved with ease through the different cooking stations, and made his way towards the ballroom entrance.

The affair in the hotel ballroom was more subdued and respectful than it had initially been planned due to recent events. Though, Castle noted, the sponsors still provided an open bar. The lights above, hanging from the high ceiling, were dimmed, providing a cozy atmosphere. Half the ballroom was taken over by seating. Chairs had been set up in semi-circle, horseshoe shaped, pointing towards the stage. A large flag, splendid in its stars and stripes, was hanging behind the podium. As Castle gauged the mingling crowd, he easily surmised that the event had already shifted to the meet and greet phase.

After a minute of observation from the periphery, he deftly merged into the assembled donors, smiling and shaking hands, slapping a shoulder or two, playing as if he was one of them. He sold his masquerade well, everyone bought it, hook, line, and sinker. He blended effortlessly into the swell. Sweeping his gaze over the crowd, Castle zeroed in on his target.

Senator William Bracken stood in the center of the gathering, making the rounds. The man was brilliant. Despite the fact his left arm was hampered by a sling, he worked the donors like a pro. Not too surprising, really. Simply judging by the longevity of his political career, this kind of thing was old hat to him. He was really playing up on his _so-called_ heroics during the assassination of Vice President Russell. Footage from the incident had showed the senator trying to dive for the vice president. He'd been injured during his 'valiant' efforts, and despite his failure to save the vice president from death, the media had still hailed Bracken a hero and true American patriot.

Almost immediately after, the talking heads and other party members started pushing his name forward to replace Russell as the party's nominee in the upcoming presidential election. It all seemed like fate. As one talk news anchor proclaimed, destiny was calling and Senator William Bracken was humbly answering that call.

Castle knew better. He knew Bracken wasn't the noble hero he appeared to be. The politician had, in fact, arranged the entire spectacle. Of course, Castle didn't have enough evidence to prove that, but with all the information he had at his disposal, it was damn obvious that senator was behind it all.

With the vice president's assassination, Bracken had accomplished two goals: One, removing his political rival, clearing the path for him to easily seize the party's nomination; and two, gaining the admiration of the media, party elders, and the American people at large, in what they all perceived as a courageous and selfish act. But Castle knew that the man who was being praised was devious and unworthy of such acclaim.

"Good to see you," the disreputable wretch was saying to his admirers. "Yes. I'm committed as ever to ensuring Vice President Russell's legacy lives on. With your generous help, we can achieve anything for this great nation."

Castle stopped, standing still in a sea of moving bodies. He stared hard at Bracken, feeling all the fury and rage bubbling inside him—outwardly, nothing showed—at all that been wrought upon the woman he loved at the behest of this man. If it was just up to Castle, he'd throttle him with his bare hands until the life faded from his eyes. But it wasn't up to him. Killing the bastard wouldn't provide Kate Beckett with the justice she sought. She deserved so much more than that.

_ "He's going to come for me again," she had said, when they had once again been alone in the hotel suite, her colleagues from the Twelfth Precinct having departed for the night after they had uncovered the truth, the name of the man behind it all. "It's only a matter of time."_

_ "Let me take you someplace, Kate," he had offered. "Someplace you'll be safe." And he could. He had the resources and contacts to do just that._

_ Castle had enfolded her in his arms and she had curled into his embrace, sighing._

_ "I'll never be safe," she had asserted._

So, Rick Castle had made a choice, unilaterally deciding what should be done to keep the woman he loved safe. Later, he had used that determination and resolve to fuel the vigor and passion with which he had made love to her. In a terrible, awful way, it had also been a kind of subterfuge, leaving her sated and satisfied, lulling her into a contented slumber, which had provided him with the opportunity to make his leave without her knowledge. It was a despicable tactic, but he was too much of a coward to leave while she was wide awake and alert, capable of arguing and convincing him his plan was foolhardy. He couldn't risk that. Her life was far more important.

On a mission, Castle ducked his head down, and stepped forward, maneuvering around those gathered around the senator. His eyes locked on the vile man. He dodged left and right, smiling at the other fundraiser attendees, laughing, like he was one of them. He got close enough to Bracken that he could smell the expensive cologne the man wore. Castle waited, eyes always observant. The senator reached up to shake the hand of another one of his donors, and Castle made his move.

He clapped the senator on the back, voicing similar celebratory sentiments as the others, all the while discretely planting a burner phone in the man's pocket. Bracken took no more notice of him than he did of any other hanger on, and Castle folded back into the crush, invisible. He made his way to the open bar, ordered a brandy, and threw it back in one gulp as he waited.

"America has always been a land of opportunity," Bracken was pontificating to his audience. "We can fulfill that promise. Together. Are you with me on that? Come one, let me hear you. Are you with me?" The donors clapped and cheered around him, and Bracken smiled, milking in the adulation.

Leaning one elbow against the bar, Castle took his phone out, flipped it open and dialed. It didn't take long for the senator to notice the ringing. A confused frown flashed across his face as he pulled the burner phone out of his jacket pocket. He held up a hand of apology to one of his guests.

"Excuse me, just—just for one minute. Please," the smooth talker maneuvered his way out of the crowd, and answered the call in a hushed voice. "Hello?"

"This is Rick Castle," Castle spoke, low and calm, keeping his eyes locked on his quarry. He noticed the man visibly stiffened after his introduction. He barely suppressed a grin. "I can see you know my name." Bracken spun around in place, neck arching left and right. "That's right. I'm watching."

Castle watched as Bracken's shoulders straightened. The man gritted his teeth, no doubt suppressing the dull ache such a movement caused his injured shoulder. Castle enjoyed the sight of the sweat that beaded on the nervous senator's forehead.

"I don't know what this is about, but I am not interested in playing games," the fiend all but snarled.

Castle stifled a scoff. "Well, you better get interested," he said. "I have information that will destroy your career. And I will use it unless you do exactly what I say."

Bracken clenched his teeth, and growled, but his shoulders slumped. And after a long pause, he gave his answer. "I'm listening."

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_***A/N: This one is going to be long. I'm not yet finished writing it, but I wanted to start posting now so it would be part of the summer ficathon. It's already over 100,000 words, and I'm still a good ways from completion. Prepare for a slow burn, with both story and Caskett.**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

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_**Chapter 1**_

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett stood for the dead.

That was the job. She was all they had, once the wicked had robbed them of their voices. Her former captain, Roy Montgomery, had told her that not long before his death. And he had been right.

Kate Beckett had become a cop because of her mother's unsolved murder. She understood what it was like to be left behind, with questions needing answers, without closure. So, she sought for others what had been denied her. Beckett became the best cop she could be, kicking ass and taking names, all in the name of justice and truth, while having none for herself. It had taken her a little over ten years since her mother's death to uncover the true culprit, but knowing was only half the battle. Another piece of wisdom Montgomery had taught her.

_There are no victories. There's only the battle._

She had echoed his words during his funeral, right before she had been shot in the chest. She could have died. She _should_ have died. But for whatever miraculous providence of fate, she hadn't. She had lived. Beckett had survived the attempt on her life to soldier on. And it had been a struggle. She battled through the grueling recovery, reclaiming some of what she had lost. But a part of her remained empty, unfulfilled, hollow. Then nearly five months after, CIA Agent Rick Castle came bursting into her life, turning everything upside down and upsetting the status-quo.

Her entire world had changed. She learned to open up to the possibilities of more, and despite her own misgivings and doubts, Beckett found herself falling in love, something she had long since given up hopes of ever really finding. Most of her adult life had been spent buried in her mother's death. It had consumed her to the point that it had become an obsession. An obsession that had almost killed her. Beckett had been afraid to find out who she would be without her mother's death to define her, give her purpose. And that's what meeting Rick Castle helped with. Knowing that someone loved her, and that she loved him in return, gave her a reason beyond her tragic past to go on, to fight for. It gave her a reason to choose life.

Through the short time that they had known each other, Beckett and Castle had developed the sort of bond that had her believing in things she'd never once even considered real. Concepts like destiny and fate, the idea of soulmates, made sense to her now. All those ridiculous songs that she used to roll her eyes at made sense. Being with Castle, loving him, being loved by him, made her happier than she had ever been in her entire life.

The shadow of her mother's death still lingered. It always would. But her life was no longer glim and dull. Just thinking of the goofy secret agent who had captured her heart made her smile. It kept her going through the drudge of the day. Though, it worked better in theory than in practice.

Relationships were hard work. And she had never really been that great at them to begin with, always keeping one foot out the door. But with Castle it was different. They clicked on such a deep level that it was almost easy to fall in love. Still, that didn't mean their relationship didn't have its own unique set of challenges. Castle was away a lot in his line of work—on assignment—and though they'd been together for well over a year, they hadn't spent nearly enough of that time actually together, in person. The strain of not seeing him for long stretches took its toll, yes, but it was something she was willing to deal with to be with him.

That didn't stop her from missing him.  
She missed his gentle touch, the timbre of his voice when he told her an amusing anecdote, the way his blue eyes sparkled and shone with adoration and love.

Oh, and she missed the mind-blowing, toe-curling, exhilarating sex.

Yeah, she missed that a lot.

But mostly, Beckett missed all the little things that people take for granted when sharing a life with someone. Essentially, if she was honest with herself, she simply missed all of him, the complete package that made up the person that was Richard Castle.

Presently it had been close to a month and a half—maybe even two months—since she'd last seen Rick Castle in the flesh. When she had been suspended after disobeying orders during the Orlando Costas case—a case that had quickly snowballed into one of the biggest cases of her life—Beckett had found herself relying on Castle for comfort and strength. And he had provided both. But he also reminded her that she didn't need him to be strong. He knew she was more than capable, and he made sure that she remembered that strength from within, the drive that kept her going, made her so damn good at her job.

They hadn't been idle during her month-long suspension. Besides the crazy amount of monkey sex, they had set to work trying to unravel the conspiracy around William Bracken's rise to power and locate any links that they could then trace back to the corrupt senator. He had numerous deaths on his ledger, including not only her mother, Johanna Beckett, but also Vice President Edward Russell.

Despite the tragedy that it was for the nation, there was no denying the fact that the Vice President's assassination had helped to skyrocket Bracken up into the position he was now. And that was the only solid thread that Beckett had that she could tug at. She knew who the assassin had been. He had been the same man Bracken had contracted to kill her. He went by many names: Cole Maddox, the Knave, Cedric Marks, Conrad Bayes—to name a few. He was a former CIA field operative, specializing in wet work and other dangerous skills. He had gone rogue. He had tried to kill Castle more than once. He had almost killed her… not once or twice, but three times. He was a ruthless, relentless psychopath. A psycho killer.

Raymond Kilmer.

She had pursued him through the streets of New York after the vice president's assassination. With Rick Castle by her side, she had tracked the killer to a stash house, where they had stumbled into a booby trap. But the trap had been set for Kilmer, not them. His employers had double crossed him, forcing the assassin to make his escape and disappear.

However, Ray Kilmer had left something behind. Files. A contingency. Blackmail material that had been collected and held by her former captain, Roy Montgomery, before his death. Kilmer had got his hands onto the files, and Beckett believed he had been intending to keep them stashed away in case his employers turned on him, which eventually, of course, they did.

Unfortunately, after Beckett and Castle had confronted Kilmer, the psycho had purposely set off the booby trap, hoping to eliminate them in the blast, and most of the files had been destroyed or badly damaged in the resulting explosion. It had taken her team hours to piece together enough from the leftovers to find a money order that led to a closed bank account that had been listed under the name William H. Bracken.

It wasn't enough. As much as she wished it was, it wasn't. The evidence was from an unreliable source and thus tainted. Beckett knew that it wouldn't hold much water with her superiors, and that it wouldn't be enough for any prosecutor. But it was all they had. All she had.

Alas, while Beckett didn't just sit around and twiddle her thumbs during her suspension, there really hadn't been much she could do without tapping into the resources of the New York Police Department, or those that Castle could provide through his contacts. And she hadn't let him use those at the time, not wanting him to risk his position with the CIA for her personal quest for justice. They had argued about it, pretty heatedly, but in the end, he relented. Sometimes she thought he surrendered far too easily. But by then, they were grappling in the throes of make-up sex, so she really didn't dwell on those thoughts that long or often.

Most days Beckett had to work alone. Castle had offered to take an extended leave of absence, but they both knew that after the assassination of the vice president there really wasn't a chance of that. To remain close to her during her suspension, Castle called in a favor with his boss back in Langley to get him temporarily assigned to the CIA field office in the New York Federal Building, where he could work alongside his friend Agent Martin Danberg, analyzing information and intel gathered in the search for the vice president's assassin.

With Castle playing double duty, the most that Beckett could do from the Gramercy Park apartment they'd rented together—a relationship milestone they both just glossed over—was theorize and research what she could, utilizing the internet. Google became her best friend. She learned everything she could about Senator William Harrison Bracken, foraging for any weaknesses. She tried to keep a low profile, well aware that Bracken had a long reach. Castle helped with that, surprising her with some computer tricks he'd picked up from one of the CIA techs he was friendly with. Before she ran any internet search, she would plug a USB drive Castle had provided into her computer and run a program to encrypt and hide her digital footprints.

Unfortunately, since she had to play it safe, that left her very little in actionable intel. Still, she was able to build a better and more thorough case board than she'd had before. It was slow and tedious, but it was progress.

And when her suspension came to an end in June, Castle's temporary stay in the New York Federal Building was over. He had stalled as long as he could with his superiors back in Langley, prolonging his stay in New York, wanting to be with her and help closer to home, but his talents were wasted behind a desk, and they both knew that. He needed to join the task force his boss, NCS Director Samson York, had assembled out in the field.

While she went back to work at the Twelfth Precinct, and continued investigating on the sly when she was off shift, Castle would join his compatriots with the Company and hunt down Ray Kilmer.

Despite the slow progress, Beckett knew that it was only a matter of time until they caught a lead. But until then, she had a job to do.

XXX

Someone was dead.

Death never waited. It came and went as it pleased, regardless of the hour. Day or night. Death did not discriminate. It took the young and old alike. Rich or poor. Those that deserved it and those that didn't. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce and strike. It was the one constant in the universe. Unavoidable.

And when it came, it was her job to find out the why and the who, the reason—if there was really any for such a senseless act. She was relentless in her pursuit. No obstacle would prevent her from fulfilling her duty. Because that's what she did.

It was that time of the year, between summer and autumn, when it could not decide between pleasantly warm and unbearably hot. Otherwise known as mid-August. There was a thickness to the air that particular evening that made it almost uncomfortable to breathe. But to borrow from the United States Postal Service's creed; neither snow nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night would keep her from her appointed duties.

Detective Kate Beckett parked her department issued Dodge Charger on the sidewalk. Because of the heat, she had forgone one of her fashionable overcoats in exchange for a peat colored linen cargo shirt jacket, the sleeves rolled up below her elbows, with a lavender blouse underneath. Jeans and her customary high-heels rounded up the outfit. She stopped by the curb, gathering her loose hair up into a high ponytail, before proceeding towards the cordoned off area.

Flashing her badge to a uniform officer, Beckett ducked under the yellow caution tape, and paused briefly, head bowed, as she went through her customary ritual of silently vowing to the universe that she would now speak for the dead, and find them justice. It didn't take long, just the length of a slow deep breath. That was all it took for her to remember the one thing she would never forget. Another body waited.

The Alexandria Motel was not a classy establishment. The yellow crime scene tape blocking the entrance did not do it any favorites. The vending machine looked like it had seen better days, and the ice maker gurgled and buzzed loudly. Uniformed officers were already canvassing the neighboring rooms, and Beckett shifted her feet, heading for the buzz of activity clustered around one of the rooms in the back end of the complex.

"Hey girl, what are you doing here?"

Beckett stopped, jerking her head back to see the medical examiner hustling up to join her. She cracked a smile.

"Hi, Lanie."

"Weren't you off shift tonight?" Lanie asked, pausing momentarily to glance over at a potted fern that was all brown and wilted. Her brow lowered on a frown and she grimaced. "Ugh. Not an ideal place to shuffle off this mortal coil, now is it?"

Beckett nodded in agreement, then answered her friend's original question. "Yeah, I was, but I was on call."

Lanie shook her head in disgust. "You work too much, Kate," she asserted. "When do you have time for any fun?"

"I have fun!" she protested, mildly offended at the insinuation.

Her friend hummed, eyeing her with a dubious expression. "Not when Spy Boy is outta town."

Beckett pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, already knowing where this conversation was headed. They'd had it before, and frankly, she was getting a little tired of it. She loved Lanie, she really did, but sometimes her friend took a little too much interest when it came to her private life. It was, after all, her _private_ life.

"I'm just saying," Lanie went on, unaffected by the exasperated eye roll. "It's been two months. You barely see him. Didn't you have this problem with the last one?"

"It's different with Castle than it was with Josh," she said, quietly adding in her head, _because I'm actually in love with him._ She had liked Josh, a lot, but she had never loved him. And for some bizarre reason, which she couldn't exactly explain, that simple fact seemed to make all the difference in helping her cope with the long intervals of absence. Plus, she knew that if she really needed him, Rick Castle would be there for her. He'd find a way. He was determined like that.

Lanie let out a sigh of dissatisfaction. "Come on, Kate. Two months! Stop lying to yourself, girl. Me… I'd be going stir crazy." She gestured wildly at Beckett. "Just look at yourself, please. Look. All tense and rigid. You're all bottled up. You need to cut loose, live a little, have some fun. Release all that _tension_. Hmm." She leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "I think it's time we have a girl's night out. Just the two of us. Drinks, dancing… maybe a little more." She added a suggestive wink at the end.

"Lanie!" Beckett exclaimed, stunned at the not too subtle implications behind those words and wink. Now that was just too far. "I'm in a relationship."

Her friend shrugged, playfully swatting at her arm. "Doesn't mean you can't still have a little fun on the side."

"And what would Esposito say about that?" Beckett asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow, hoping to put an end to this ludicrous conversation by mentioning her friend's boyfriend. Honestly, sometimes she wondered about Lanie. Beckett had had her wild phase, yes, but she'd never been _that _wild, especially if she was with someone at the time.

"Who cares what that jackass thinks!" the medical examiner asserted with a derisive snort and a dismissive wave of her hand. "You know what he wanted to do last weekend?"

"What?"

"Take me to meet his abuela!"

"And that's bad… why?" Beckett questioned, hesitant to delve too deeply into the personal lives of her friends. She worked with these people, and she didn't need any other extra information putting a crimp into their team dynamic. It had been bad enough when Ryan and Esposito weren't speaking to one another due to them falling out last May during the Orlando Costas case. But life was messy that way, something she'd come to learn and accept over the last couple of years. Thankfully, the pair had reconciled… to a degree.

"Because then it's serious," Lanie stated as if it was obvious, finally answering her question after a long interval of silence. She punctuated the comment with a shudder. "Damn it, girl, things get serious when you meet the family."

Beckett was inclined to agree with that assertion, but she didn't understand why that was such a bad thing. "Haven't you and Esposito been together for over a year?" she asked, her nose wrinkling in confusion. She knew they had been on-again, off-again quite a lot, but they were always together. At least that's how she had perceived things from the outside. Perhaps she had misjudged the nature of her friend and colleague's relationship.

"Yes," Lanie hedged, furrowing her brow. "_Casually_. We never really put a label on it. It was just fun… you know? Fun. That's all it was. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, you do you, Lanie," Beckett said after a long beat, gesturing broadly to her friend. She didn't necessarily agree with it, or understand it, but that was Lanie. Always had been. Always would be. "But I'm fine. Trust me when I say I have enough fun with Castle. More than enough."  
"Oh, really," Lanie's eyes brightened. Beckett almost groaned. She'd said too much. Trust it to Lanie to sense that some juicy details hadn't yet been shared. Lanie arched her eyebrow, intrigued. "Care to tell?"

She wetted her lips, and smirked, knowing she was driving her friend crazy at her feigned contemplation. "Maybe later," Beckett offered, and then jerked her head towards the motel room where the CSU techs were buzzing about like busy bumblebees.

"I'll hold you to that, Kate," Lanie proclaimed as she jogged ahead, pulling out some blue latex gloves and snapping them on.

Beckett took a moment to collect herself after that conversation. Lanie was a handful at times, and no one else—saved Castle—challenged her patience to such an extreme. Yet, at the same time, she recognized that it was a good thing she had a friend like Lanie who could nudge her out of her comfort zone, from time to time. Taking a deep, calming breath, Beckett refocused her mind to the task ahead.

Someone was dead.

And Kate Beckett stood for the dead.

CSU was already taking photos of the body, a young woman in a black sequin dress with a pink jacket over it, when she stepped into the motel room. At a quick glance, the room was a mess. And it wasn't just the result of terrible management. The drawers from the cheap dresser were pulled out and dumped on the floor. A table lamp had been tossed on the bed, the sheets of which were strewn about haphazardly. The victim's possessions were scattered across the floor. Clearly someone had been looking for something.

Beckett took a moment to survey the room as a whole, taking a mental snapshot of it for later review. Detective Javier Esposito spotted her, and gestured. Stepping over to him, she craned her neck to glance down at the notepad in his hand as he recited the details learned thus far.

"Our victim's Naomi Allen, age 25," he informed. "Her green card indicates she's a British National. Ryan's notifying the consulate."

Narrowing her eyes at his notepad, Beckett noticed a detail that jumped out as an odd sock. "Her address is in SoHo," she observed. "What was she doing all the way down here?"

"Don't know, but she checked in two hours before she was killed," Esposito shrugged. "Good news is we have a witness. The maid who discovered the body saw a guy run out of the room."

Beckett jerked her head up. "Did the maid get a good look?"

Esposito flashed a bit of teeth. "She's with a sketch artist now."

"Well then, whoever he is he was looking for something," she said, gesturing at the mess, purse contents lying across the floor, toppled table lamp. "This place has been searched."

"One thing we do know is that she was not robbed. Her clutch, watch, and cash were untouched."

Nodding, taking it all in, Beckett walked the scene. Cocking her head, she turned back to the body and stooped down beside the Lanie.

"How does it look?"

Lanie sighed. "Poor thing, she was strangled, but she went down with a fight. Prelim suggests signs of a struggle." She moved her gloved hands up, indicating the bruise under the young woman's eye. "She took one to the face."

"A well dressed, attractive woman in a seedy motel and a guy who flees the crime scene," Beckett narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly in thought as she speculated out loud. "This might have been a one night stand gone wrong."

She looked to Lanie.

"I'll know once I get her into autopsy," Lanie answered the unspoken question about sexual activity.

Inclining her head, Beckett slapped her hands against her knees and pushed, standing back up. "Hey Espo?"

"Yeah?" he turned around from a conversation he was having with a CSU tech.

"Can you contact the next of kin and canvass the area once the sketch is done?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Ryan popped up from nowhere, holding a small piece of paper in tweezers. "Hey, Beckett. Found the vic's business card in the side pocket of her purse. Looks like she worked in Manhattan." He turned the card a bit and squinted in the dim light. "Naomi Allen, Kittman Group."

Beckett checked her wristwatch, a clunky and masculine design, her father's. "It's too late to follow up, but I'll do that first thing in the morning," she asserted, scrubbing a hand down her face as she suppressed a yawn. "For now, let's focus on processing the scene and interviewing eyewitnesses. Oh, and Esposito," she pointed at him. "Stick on that maid, I want the sketch ASAP."

"Will do, boss," Esposito bobbed his head, and then ducked out, heading for his assigned task.

She closed her eyes and took in a breath, fighting off another yawn. It was rather late and she'd got up early to do some choices around her apartment, and then she'd had a lunch meeting with Martha Rodgers, followed with a visit with Alexis for coffee in the afternoon. She found that spending time with the other women in Castle's life helped her remain positive. It also gave her a sense of family that she truly hadn't had since her mother's death. Speaking of, because she'd been so busy Beckett had been unable to find any time to do some sleuthing into Bracken. There were only so many hours in the day, and despite her crushing need to make the man face justice for his crimes, she still had a life.

"Kate, you look exhausted," Lanie's soft voice broke through her thoughts.

Blinking her eyes open, Beckett glanced down at her friend, who was still crouched on the floor, examining the body.

"You should go home, get some rest," Lanie suggested.

"Yeah," Ryan interjected, having been eavesdropping. The fiend. "We can handle all this. Besides, it was your day off."

"I was on call," she reminded them, hands on hips, trying to put as much of her authority as team leader into her voice.

Ryan flashed her a look with his baby blues. "As you said, nothing much more to do tonight besides process the scene. We've got this, Beckett. Go home. Start fresh in the morning."

She wanted to argue, but as she opened her mouth to protest, nothing came out. Gaping at her two friends, Beckett relented under their determined stares.

"All right," she surrendered, holding up her hands to prove it. "I'll go home, but if you catch anything—_anything at all_—you call me. Okay?"

Ryan agreed with a nod, giving a thumbs up for added measure.

Satisfied to have that caveat in place, Beckett gave a small bob of her head, and then turned and stepped out of the motel room, leaving the rest to her team.


	3. Chapter 2

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 2**_

* * *

A trio of ubiquitous black jeeps zoomed down a rural road, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake and obscuring the rising sun in a reddish haze. In the distance, a tall snowcapped mountain range stood strong, like a silent sentinel watching over the quiet valley. This place used to be rich with trade as part of the silk road of old, but times had changed. Dark clouds could be seen building on the far horizon. The light grew dim, and headlight beams flicked on, casting their faint gaze across the tall, flowing grass fields. The three vehicles turned with each curve of the winding path without slowing pace, relentless and determined to reach their destination.

The silhouette of a white gulfstream jet could barely be seen by the fading light. It stood alone, along a disused airstrip in the middle of nowhere. A cluster of men stood around it in a defensive pattern, all dressed in black, bearing arms and tactical gear. CIA Officer Gavin Huxley appeared from the opened hatch of the jet, the glowing end of his cigarette brightening as he took a puff. Smoke billowed out around him as he descended the stairs. He walked with a smooth, confident gait, as if he didn't have a care in the world. The armed men fanned out around him as the lead jeep skidded to a halt ten yards from the landing field. The other two vehicles followed suit. Dust billowed up around them, lingering momentarily before the gentle breeze cleared the air.

Huxley took a long drag from his cigarette, savoring his addiction. He had an unremarkable face, easily forgotten. It served him well in his line of work. After another puff of his cigarette, Huxley glanced at one of the armed men and nodded his head.

The mercenary raised his weapon and approached the lead jeep, signaling for the occupant to cut the ignition. The driver complied, killing the engine. The other jeeps did the same. Huxley inhaled deeply, and the end of his cigarette flared bright orange in the early dawn light. With a click, the driver and passenger side doors opened on all three jeeps. Big, muscled men wearing uniformed tactical gear stepped out. They immediately moved to the back doors of the vehicles, retrieving unwilling passengers from the backseats. One prisoner per jeep. With heads shrouded in black bags, the prisoners were led by their captors towards Huxley for inspection.

Huxley took one last drag on his cigarette before tossing it down to the ground and snuffing it out with his foot. "You're late," he said to the beefy mercenary.

The first mercenary grumbled, his voice thick with an Eastern European accent. "We ran into some complications."

Huxley hated working with hired thugs, but his orders from Assistant Deputy Director Kovaks had been specific. And Huxley, unlike some of his fellow colleagues, didn't go rogue. He grimaced, bitterly thinking of Rick Castle and how the pompous agent had blown Operation Looking Glass half a year ago. Thankfully, ADD Kovaks recognized it hadn't been Huxley's fault, and trusted him to continue with his original mission, though with slight adjustments.

Recollecting his thoughts, Huxley returned to the present and nodded to the mercenary, surveying the three prisoners with narrowed eyes. "You were only supposed to grab one."

"Couldn't be helped, _sir_."

He ignored the man's condescending tone. After regarding the three prisoners for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders. Turning, Huxley signaled to the CIA TACT team that had been waiting by the gulfstream jet with him. "Get them on board."

The three hooded individuals were roughly handled as they struggled against their captors, but one by one, they all ended up loaded up on the plane. Huxley watched with a disinterested expression. He accepted a large black duffel from one of his men and turned back to the lead mercenary.

"For your trouble," he said, offering the payment.

The man took it and plopped the bag on the hood of the nearest jeep. He quickly opened it and inspected the contents. Satisfied, he zipped it back up and handed the payment off to one of his men.

"Nice working with you," he inclined his head towards Huxley. He raised his hand and made a quick signal. The group of mercenaries efficiently got back into their jeeps, and then proceeded to drive away, dust billowing up behind them as they departed.

Huxley watched as they disappeared, and shook his head. He turned to the TACT officer waiting beside him, and made a gesture back towards the plane. He pursed his lips, and climbed up into the jet ahead of them.

Ducking his head down as he entered the main cabin, Huxley momentarily glanced back at the three hooded men being placed in their seats, spaced out, away from one another. He turned towards the cockpit and spoke with the pilots. The stairs were reeled back in, and the hatch sealed and locked. He lingered by the cockpit door as the jet's engines reeved to life. Taking his cellphone out, he punched in the encryption code and sent a message off to ADD Kovaks, updating him on the operation, per orders.

A response came once they were in the air. Huxley read the instructions and shrugged. He had no problem following orders. A disgusted sneer twisted his lips as he imagined what the self-righteous Rick Castle would say to such orders. There was a reason the agent had never made it into the Company's supervisorial ranks. Gavin Huxley, on the other hand, was on the way up. He was ambitious, and he knew how to impress those above him.

Turning away from the cockpit, he jerked his head and gestured towards the open space in front of him. "Bring them."

The TACT officers easily manhandled all three prisoners out of their seats and shoved them up to the front of the plane, roughly pushing them down onto their knees before the tall CIA agent. Huxley held up his hand, palm up. One of the TACT men garbed in black unhooked his pistol from his holster and handed it to him.

"We have a problem," he announced, glancing smugly down at the subdued prisoners. "The flight plan I just filed with the Agency lists me and my men, but only _one_ of you. So… how about this, the first that talks gets to stay on board."

With a quick flick of his wrist, Huxley sent a signal to another man, who opened the hatch, allowing the howling wind to roar inside the cabin. The plane rocked gently, but the pilots, having previously been read into the plan, easily compensated for the change in air pressure.

"So, who's first?" Huxley asked.

The three shrouded figures remained silent.

Huxley sighed, and nodded. Growling, one of his men grabbed the prisoner on the left and hauled him away from the group. Huxley followed behind, dropping down onto one knee as they held the hooded man close to the door, pushed threateningly against the edge. Huxley cocked the gun and pressed the barrel against the man's hooded head.

"Look, buddy, it's simple. All you have to do is give us a location. Where's the Knave? Where's Raymond Kilmer?"

When the man didn't immediately respond, Huxley shifted his aim and fired out the open hatch.

"Toss him," he ordered.

Moving hurriedly to help cover the deception, the TACT team dragged the man away from the opened hatch, clamping a hand over his mouth to prevent him from alerting his compatriots. Grinning, Huxley stood and signaled for them to bring another man. The next hooded man was soon put in the same position as the first. Huxley knelt down and held the gun to his head.

"How about you? You willing to talk?"

A strange laugh broke through the wind bellowing inside the cabin. Pausing, Huxley glanced up to stare at the remaining prisoner. The man's shoulders were shaking as he continued to laugh in a cold sort of way. It was rather disconcerting.

"Perhaps he is wondering why you are so willing to waste bullets when you have no intention of backing up your threat," the hooded man asserted in an oddly, almost detached manner.

Miffed, Huxley stood and gestured to his men as he stalked away from the opened hatch.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Remove the hood, and you shall find out," came the amused reply.

Huxley narrowed his eyes, uncertain. He'd had strict orders. But his curiosity was getting the better of him. Inhaling sharply through his nostrils, he turned and looked to the two guards, nodding. "Do it."

Slowly, one of the men in TACT gear reached over and pulled the hood back to reveal the cold eyes and steely gaze of a ghost. Huxley couldn't conceal his shock and surprise. He shook his head.

"Shit," he heard himself gasp. "It's you. You're him." He swallowed, trying to regroup. An almost giddy laugh escaped his lips. "This is brilliant." He looked around at his men. "We've hit the jackpot! This is the Knave, former CIA black ops officer Raymond Kilmer, also known as Cole Maddox—otherwise known as the man who assassinated the Vice President." He turned back and stared down at Kilmer, still somewhat stunned by the sudden turn in events. "Mission accomplished," he declared, self-congratulatory. _Take that, Castle_, he thought triumphantly.

A thin, devious smirk worked its way across Kilmer's iron face. His eyes remained dark and impassive, as if his capture was of no consequence. It was baffling.

"Yes, it is," he concurred in an unsettling voice, as if he knew something that the CIA officer did not.

"Shut it," Huxley ordered, crouching down so he could meet the man's steely gaze. "You have a lot to answer for."

"No," came a firm reply. "You do."

"Me?"

Kilmer pursed his lips together, remaining calm and cool. The man was completely at ease. It was a rather disquieting sight. "Who?"  
"Who?" Huxley parroted, almost idiotically. "What who?"

"Who sent you?" Kilmer inquired, unblinking.

"The Agency," he answered, frowning.

"Obviously," Kilmer's lips sneered, as if Huxley's obtuseness annoyed him. "Who, specifically?"

"Why does that matter?" Huxley demanded, confused by the whole exchange.

"Just thought you should know the name of the man responsible for the death of your men," Kilmer replied with a matter of fact tone.

"Death? What?"

But before he could fully comprehend the statement, Ray Kilmer jerked forward, butting his head hard against his. Huxley tumbled backwards, dazed. Dizzy, he watched, stupefied, as Kilmer quickly stood, throwing back his shoulders with amazing strength, knocking the guards back. With a roar, Kilmer freed himself from his zip tie restraints and made quick work of the two stunned TACT guards, rapidly disarming and subduing them. Behind Huxley, the other two hooded men had freed themselves, and were subduing the last of his TACT team. Kilmer grappled with the team commander, wrestling his pistol from the hostler.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

With rapid, practiced movements, Kilmer took out the two guards and the commander with amazing speed, each felled with a single shot. He jerked around, pistol up, taking aim, and the remaining CIA TACT officers were finished.

"Toss them," Kilmer ordered, and his men did so, shoving the now deceased TACT team officers out the open airlock, fulfilling the feigned threat Huxley had held over them moments before.

Huxley shuddered with fear. Sweat trickled down his forehead as Kilmer casually checked the number of rounds left in his clip. Face still passive, the psycho killer glanced down at him. His eyes, however, gleamed with a quality that broadcasted the raw power beneath the surface.

"Thanks for the plane, Agent Huxley," he said in a smooth voice. "It's very much appreciated."

"No… please, don't kill me… No," Huxley whimpered, pleading, desperate to save himself. "Please. I can be of—"

Kilmer spun the pistol around in his hand, and with a fierce swing, rammed the butt of the gun into Huxley's head, knocking him out. Standing back, Kilmer straightened his shoulders. "Restrain him," he informed his comrades. "I'll inform the pilots of the change in our flight plan."

XXX

Beckett let herself into her Gramercy Park apartment, briefly closing her eyes as she worked at suppressing a yawn. Her colleagues had been right to send her home. She hated feeling like things were left unfinished, but there really wasn't much more that she could have done tonight. And besides, in the morning she could tackle the case fully rested and with fresh eyes. She dumped her keys in the bowl on the credenza, and trudged into the living room, kicking her high-heels off and pulling the tie from her ponytail, letting her hair fall down around her shoulders.

The living room was an interesting mix of styles, both hers and his. While Beckett's tastes tended to be of an eclectic bohemian nature, her boyfriend was more classic and utilitarian, masculine. He favored a dark, neutral palette, while she liked to add a splash of color, which accounted for the purple curtains draping over the large side window. Their tastes clashed a bit, but not unpleasantly. It hadn't been too difficult navigating around decorating the place together. Though they did have the most ridiculous argument over the sofa, eventually settling on a leather sectional—a compromise, which also involved christening it very spectacularly.

One of her favorite features was the built-in fireplace. They never really used it, but Beckett loved having a mantle place where she could display family portraits: Her mother held a place of honor, next to one of her father, and a lovely candid photo of Martha and Alexis at the theater. They had a large flat screen TV, something Castle wanted, with a game console attached to it. Her boyfriend the spy loved his video games, which was oddly one of the few normal things about him. Though, there really wasn't much that was normal about Rick Castle. Oh, she may nettle him from time to time about that, but at the end of the day, it was one of the many things she loved about the man.

It was interesting, sharing a home with a man like Castle. Due to his profession, he really had never had a place of his own before. And while Beckett had lived with a boyfriend in college, this was her first time cohabitating in her adulthood. It was such a huge milestone for a couple, but neither of them had put much thought into it before signing the lease. Strange. She would have expected some nerves and anxiety over the prospect of them sharing a place so soon in their relationship, but nothing of the nature ever manifested. It was surprising how easy it was.

Working to suppress another yawn, Beckett plopped down on the sofa, stretching out on the L-shaped section and hugging her favorite Union Jack throw pillow to her chest. Surrounded by her things and his, mingled and shared in the same space, brought comfort and reassurance. It made her smile happily as her eyelids grew heavy. Only one thing would make it even better. And that would be the man himself, Rick Castle. But alas, he wasn't there, and she had no idea when he would return.

_Soon_, she hoped as sleep took her. _Soon_.

XXX

He checked his wristwatch, eyebrows knitting together as he read the time. Seven after midnight. He was used to long hours, going on with little to no sleep, but this was really pushing it. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in months, and he was running on fumes. Desk work wasn't his thing. He grew tired of staring at screens. Rick Castle worked best out in the field, tracking down leads. At least then the adrenalin could help him stave off the fatigue. He was used to that. There was, however, one benefit to his current situation. During the doldrums between field operations, he was able to scribble more and more down in the next shared adventures of the sultry, badass Detective Nikki Heat and the ruggedly handsome journalist Jameson Rook.

Castle had promised his girlfriend that whilst he was away on assignment, he would work on a new story for her to read when he got back. Kate Beckett was a voracious reader. She consumed books like they were hot cakes, and she'd already devoured all the manuscripts he'd had locked away in his storage unit. It touched him, deeply, just how much she relished reading his words, and encouraged him to pursue his hobby of storytelling.

Though Kate had insisted, along with his mother and daughter, that his written works were good enough to be published novels, Castle couldn't help but just consider it a recreational diversion from his intense and grueling profession. Still, it helped him unwind after a tough operation. And he enjoyed crafting together a narrative where the good guys triumphed over the evil doers. The real world was hardly ever so black and white.

Leaning back in his chair, Castle pursed his lips as he stared down at the notepad in his hand, his concise handwriting filled the small pages in neat, tight paragraphs. Castle liked to think that Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook provided a mirror for an alternative life that Kate and he might have lived if things had been different. He leafed through the pages, searching for where he left off. Taking his pencil out, he was about to add another sentence when an electronic bell chimed out of the speakers, and a flashing red light flared out from the front of the operations center.

Huffing, Castle flipped the notepad closed and stuffed it back into his pocket as he got up to his feet. He stretched languidly and walked around the desk, heading up the middle aisle the led the command dais. He passed three rows of computer terminals, where techs and analysts worked with their heads bowed, fingers tapping away on keyboards. Stepping up onto the platform, Castle surveyed the banks of monitors mounted on the wall in front of him. The room was set up like a mini-theater, with two rows going down up front, more analysts manning computers below him.

"What have we got, Singh?" Castle asked the computer tech who occupied the lead console, hoping it was something that would get him out of the building. He missed Agent Riley from the New York office. But Vikram Singh had proven to be component enough. Castle still didn't understand what York was thinking, assigning him to the operations center in-between missions. He was a field agent. This work was better for someone like Martin Danberg. His friend was much better at supervising computer techs and intel analysts than he was.

"Priority alert," the younger man declared, punching in a key command. In a snap the details were displayed on the large screen in the center of the wall. The small monitors flanking it kept rotating through various feeds from satellites, drones, and CCTV footage around the globe. As always, one monitor remained unchanged, in the right-hand corner, showing the last official Agency ID photo and details of Raymond Kilmer, aka 'The Knave'.

Squinting, Castle put his hands on his hips, still uncomfortable in the suit and tie he had to wear in his current position as supervisory agent. He glossed over the information displayed on the main screen.

"What's Huxley doing in Uzbekistan?" he asked. "I thought he'd been benched since Istanbul?"

Singh shrugged, glancing back down at his monitor as he pulled up the internal dossier on the operation. "Special assignment," he read.

Castle scrubbed a hand down his face. "Why'd our system flag it?"

"Only reason would be if it connects to Operation Mongoose and its mandate," Singh answered with a furrowed brow.

Frowning, Castle watched as a map of Uzbekistan and the surrounding region popped up on one of the side screens, a signal dot with a pulsing beacon appearing to indicate Huxley's location in country. Stepping to the left, Castle bent down and gazed over Singh's shoulder at the tech's monitor. His eyes narrowed as he skimmed the data on the electronic dossier.

"Kovaks," he growled.

"Sir?"

"Assistant Deputy Director Daniel Walter Kovaks," came a commanding voice. "That's why the system flagged the operation, Mr. Singh."

Castle jerked back, flicking his head to the right as a tall, distinguished man materialized out of the shadows. He had a thick head of white hair, dark eyebrows, and a lined face that had seen a lot. The senior agent in charge strolled confidently down the aisle, joining Castle on the command platform.

"Agent Hunt," Castle inclined his head in greeting, wondering how long the senior agent had been lurking in the back of the operations center, out of sight, observing.

"Castle," Jackson Hunt acknowledged. He turned to Singh. "I want you to pull up all recent operations the ADD has approved."

"Sir," Singh snapped to work, spinning back around to his computer console, rapidly tapping out the commands.

The main central screen flashed and numerous windows popped up, filling the blank space. Castle stepped back, allowing Hunt the prime viewing station. The older man eyed him for a moment, before assuming the position.

"Operation Viper," Hunt read. "Isolate it."

On the screen Castle watched as the other window boxes vanished, flashing away into the electronic void, until only one remained. With a few quick keystrokes from Vikram Singh it soon enlarged to encompass the entire screen. Hunt placed his hands behind his back, standing tall with a straight back as he squinted his eyes, reading the information on Operation Viper. There was something about that name that rang a bell in Castle's head.

"Last entry seems to indicate the operation was a success," Singh read from his monitor, glancing back up at them with a surprised expression.

"However the dossier hasn't been closed," Castle commented, jabbing a finger towards the status notation.

"Does that mean the operation is still active?" Singh asked.

Castle nodded. "Show me that last entry in the log. I want to actually see it."

"Belay that," Hunt interrupted, stepping between the two. He placed a hand on Castle's shoulder. "I'll take it from here, son."

"I've risked quite a lot to be part of this task force," Castle bristled at the dismissal, gritting his teeth. He wasn't this man's _son_. And he didn't appreciate the condescending tone. "So, with all due respect, _sir_, I'm not leaving this job unfinished."

"_Respect_," Hunt scoffed, not even bothering to look at him. "Your record says something different, Agent Castle. You're a great agent, yes… an asset to the Company, but your defiance to authority is well documented. Oddly, it was one of the reasons you were recruited by Samson York. But sometimes it can be a detriment to your mission. York may allow you your _eccentricities_, but I would not."

Anger flashed in his eyes. Castle knew exactly what Hunt was referring to. "My relationship with Kate Beckett is not an _eccentricity_," he asserted. "And frankly, sir, it's none of your business." He couldn't believe this. He thought this bullshit had been dealt with months ago.

Hunt shook his head, disapprovingly. "You're compromised, my boy. And you can't even see it." He finally turned, giving Castle a hard stare, and spoke in a low, stern voice. "This job requires focus. Narrowed focus. Your loyalties are divided. When you can't remain objective because your girlfriend's mommy was killed, then you're no good to us."

Castle was stunned by the blunt and callous manner of Hunt's words. However, he refused to be intimidated by this man. Sure, the man was a legend within the Agency, but that didn't give him the right to speak to him in such a fashion.

"I've sacrificed a lot for this job," he asserted. "But I won't give up one of the most honest and real things I've ever had because it offends your sense of commitment to the job. Damn right, I'm emotionally invested in the case. Kilmer tried to kill her. He tried to kill me. But I'd argue that makes me more determined than anyone else to see him brought to justice."

"Justice or vengeance?" Hunt questioned, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Justice," Castle stated, without hesitation.

Hunt regarded him for a moment longer until he made up his mind. "Fine, you can stay," he declared, glancing back to the center screen. All the disapproval and criticism from the older man seemed to fade away, oddly replaced with something akin to pride. On reflection, Castle found the entire exchange bizarre, wondering if it had been some sort of test.

And if so, had he passed?

"I've found something, sir," Singh announced, his excitable voice breaking through Castle's reverie.

"What?" he asked, when Hunt remained silent.

"I've been searching through Operation Viper's mission logs, and have found several entries missing," Singh informed him.

"Missing? As in—?"

"Erased," Singh confirmed with a nod. "I'm trying to retrieve them, but whoever deleted them from the file was good. Very good."

Castle frowned, patting the man's shoulder. "Well, keep at it."

"Yes, sir."

Stepping back, Castle moved to stand next to Hunt, who had his head bowed, thoughtful.

"Sir?" he questioned.

"This is troubling news," Hunt spoke at length. "Something is happening. We've suspected for some time that Vice President Russell's assassination was only the start. There is a larger plan at play, and I don't like it."

Castle couldn't argue with that. For months, he'd been aware of the broader machinations involved. With the help of Kate Beckett and her team, they had uncovered Senator William Bracken's connection to, not only Kilmer, but also the contract hit on Johanna Beckett and countless others. It was like Hunt had said. There was a bigger conspiracy at play, something that the task force was still working on unraveling. York had managed to get them some leeway and funding when he spoke with CIA Director Reynolds, but their scope was limited to Kilmer and Kovaks, and the connection between the two that brought them into the greater whole.

If it wasn't for the fact that Ray Kilmer was still at large, Castle would have been back in New York, with Kate, trying to help her take down the corrupt senator, instead of this abandoned CIA black site that had been repurposed for National Clandestine Services Director Samson York's special task force code named Operation Mongoose.

A flash of guilt slashed through his gut as he recalled what he'd done to keep Kate safe during his absence. He had made a deal with the devil in order to save the woman he loved from further retaliation. He just hoped Bracken never called his bluff. It was a dangerous game he was playing. He wondered if that had something to do with Hunt's little comment about divided loyalties. His deal with Bracken was off the books, and he had left it out of his reports. As he glanced down at the massive bank of monitors, watching as information on Operation Viper scrolled across the screens, Castle could only hope that when the dust settled he had made the right decision.


	4. Chapter 3

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 3**_

* * *

Walking out of the break room, with a cup of coffee in hand, Kate Beckett maneuvered across the bullpen to continue assembling the murder board. Earlier in the morning, she had visited the Kittman Group offices with Esposito, where they questioned Claire Panchard, Naomi Allen's U.S. booking agent.

According to Miss Panchard, Naomi had been one of the talent agency's best models. The young woman had been splitting her time between here and London, which was very common for models Naomi's age, most ultimately ended up spending half the year in New York City. Panchard had no idea why Naomi had been at the Alexandria Motel last night. Esposito had let it slip that the place was known more as a _pay by the hour_ kind of motel, and Panchard's reaction to that tidbit piqued at his unspoken implication Beckett's interest.

She showed the woman the sketch artist's rendering of the man the maid had witnessed leaving the motel room before discovering the body. They were still operating under the assumption—until proven otherwise—that Naomi had got mixed up in a bad one night stand. Panchard gave the sketch a good, long look, but in the end, shook her head, saying she had never seen the man before.

Beckett recognized a look flash across the woman's face, and she pushed Panchard for more information, suspecting that the woman, even if she'd never seen the man before, might have an idea of who he might be. And after some more prodding, Panchard finally did admitted that Naomi had been acting strange recently, seeming to lose interest in standard model jobs and booking unconventional gigs. Apparently, she was being hired to attend parties. Beckett found the notion ridiculous, but according to Miss Panchard it was actually quite common for models to get hired to pretty up an event. And that it was a way for some girls to pick up extra money on the side, or even use it as a way of connecting with wealthy men.

Panchard was able to tell them that Naomi had wanted her to get her into an event the previous night, some sort of album launch party in Midtown, but the booking agent didn't have any connections and had been unable to set up anything for the young model.

Beckett found the whole thing unnerving. She recalled her very brief stint in the fashion world during her youth. It had been just a job over the summer to her, but the magazine editor supervising the photoshoots had recognized something in her, telling her that she had the natural beauty and talent to go far and really make it as a model, but Beckett wasn't interested. She'd just wanted the extra cash to help pay for her motorcycle, which had driven both her parents crazy with worry, more so when she rode off alongside the grunge rocker she'd been seeing at the time. As she thought back on the memory, Beckett couldn't help but ponder how her mother would react to meeting her latest beau. She liked to think Castle would charm her mother just as well as he'd charmed her.

A sharp beat of longing tugged at her heart. She missed him. It was difficult being apart. Beckett could understand Lanie's concerns that she was just repeating the same relationship mistakes she'd made with Josh. But, Beckett remained steadfast in her conviction that it was different with Castle. With Josh, she'd always had one foot out the door, while with Castle, both feet were firmly planted inside. She was all in with him.

And she knew he felt the same way.

They'd rented the Gramercy Park apartment together, after all. The lease had both their names on it. That was huge. Beckett had never cohabitated with a guy since college. Though, in all honesty, Castle really hadn't been around that much. But she knew that wasn't going to be forever. He'd come back. He would.

Reaching her desk, Beckett put the coffee mug down, and approached the whiteboard, uncapping the Expo marker. She set to work adding the information they'd gleamed from their interview with Claire Panchard to the notes on the board. Along with some questions.

\- _Why the party gigs?  
_ _\- Why and how, the Alexandria Motel?  
_ _-_ _What was she up to?_

She placed the sketch of the mystery man on the right side of the board, in the suspects column, and added bulleted notes under it.

_\- Unknown Male  
_ _\- Middle-Aged, Good looking  
_ _\- Client? Lover?  
_ _\- Seen fleeing scene  
_ _\- What was he looking for?_

The mystery man had ransacked the motel room, searching for something. And Beckett was keen on finding out his identity as soon as possible, and discovering his connection with the victim. Who he was, what he was doing, and was he Naomi's killer? Those were the questions burning in her mind. They needed to find this man ASAP if she were to get any answers.

Finished, Beckett took a step back and surveyed her work. Satisfied, she capped the marker, and went back to her desk, where she perched on the edge and stared back at the whiteboard, trying to absorb all the information and seeing what connections she could extrapolate before Esposito and Ryan returned.

Her phone buzzed. Head still on the case, Beckett absently reached into her pocket to retrieve it. She glanced down to read the message. A warm feeling filled her chest and a smile touched her lips when she saw who it was from: Castle.

_Hey, sweet cheeks!_ _Long night… or morning? Just now heading to bed. You?_

She rolled her eyes at the absurd endearment. She knew he used it specifically to get a rise out of her. The irritation she'd once had for it had faded with time and use. Now it had become a sort of inside joke between them, a reminder of when they first met.

Ducking her head down, her thumbs flew across the screen.

_Caught a case last night. Slept on the couch. Miss your coffee_.

She pressed send, and waited. Soon the little bubble and flashing dots alerted her Castle was typing out his reply.

_Just my coffee? What about me? I know I miss your sweet cheeks, sweet cheeks_.

He punctuated his text with the kissing face emoji. That made her grin. Either he was deliriously tired or he was in a playful mood, or both. She bit her lower lip as she wrote out her response.

_Okay, maybe I miss more than just your coffee_.

Beckett returned his kissing face emoji with two of the same. Then she asked him about his night… or morning? She knew he couldn't be too specific, but they both had a stake in finding Kilmer.

_Don't get your hopes up, but_ _we might have caught a lead_.

Ignoring his suggestion, her heart rate kicked up a beat at that. This was good news. If Castle could locate Kilmer and get the psycho killer to turn on his employer, then they might finally have a legitimate chance of taking Bracken down sooner rather than later. The trail had grown cold on her end. She couldn't help but hope it was finally getting red hot on Castle's end.

_Need to catch some Zs, but wanted you to know_, he texted.

She smiled at his thoughtfulness.

_Puts my mind at ease knowing you're working it. Wish I could be working it with you_.

His response came in a flash: _Me too_.

_Thanks_, she texted. _Get some rest. Then you get that bastard_.

Castle messaged back, _By your command, Detective Sweet Cheeks_.

Pursing her lips to stifle the bubble of laughter that wanted out, Beckett rolled her eyes, shaking her head at her ridiculous boyfriend. She shifted, glancing around the bullpen to see if anyone was watching. When it seemed like the coast was clear, Beckett stood up from her desk and pirouetted around in place, holding up her phone to take a selfie.

God, she felt like such a teenager, but the blossoming warmth in her chest, and the giddy feeling she had from speaking with him, even if it was through text messages, gave her the courage to act.

Wetting her lips, she made a sultry look at the camera lens on her iPhone and snapped several photos. After selecting the perfect shot, she attached it to their message train and sent it to him, along with a caption: _Some inspiration for your dreams, stud_.

_Damn woman, you'll be the death of me, _he texted back, adding a winking face emoji.

_Shut it._ Beckett sent back, grinning like a fool in love. Really, this man brought out a totally different side of her. She was used to being reserved and controlled, but somehow Castle always managed to bring her out of her shell. It really was like he had magic powers or something, bringing back to the surface the part of her that had died along with her mother all those years ago. It was actually one of the things she loved about him.

The bubble and flashing dots image appeared on the screen, and stopped. Then started again. Beckett smirked, just imagining her boyfriend typing out a response, then thinking better of it and deleting it, before starting again. Finally, a message came through. It was shorter than she'd been expecting, considering the amount of time it took him to write it.

_For yours_.

A second later, a picture materialized, and Beckett felt her cheeks flush with happiness and desire, seeing a rumpled looking Rick Castle staring back from her iPhone screen. He was reclined on some sort of cot, concrete walls buffeting the edges. He must be in an off-site bunker somewhere, she mused.

Castle was gazing at the camera lens with that intense, passionate look that warmed her insides immediately with want. He had a white collared shirt on, top buttons undone, showing off the solid muscle concealed beneath. He had once been sporting a tie, but it was unknotted and hung free and limp around his neck. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips as she contemplated the wickedly delightful fun they could have together with that tie. With his interrogation techniques, combined with hers, they could be very _creative_ when they put their minds to it.

She sighed, half in appreciation of his rugged handsomeness, and the other half in deep longing._ Love you, babe_, she sent back.

_Love you, Kate. Always_, was his response. And then he was gone.

Pursing her lips, Beckett smoothed her fingers along the lines of text declaring his love for her. Oh, how she missed him and his playfulness. Castle made her life joyous. She hadn't really been having any fun until he literally tumbled into her life. Allowing herself a brief break from the world of the Twelfth Precinct, Beckett gazed at the selfie he'd sent to her, tracing the lines of his gorgeous face, yearning for his familiar touch and the feel of his skin, his body pressed against hers, sending her over the edge and beyond.

Letting out a long breath, Beckett reluctantly dragged her eyes away from the small screen, and pocketed her phone. Carding her fingers through her hair, she closed her eyes, and tried to reorient herself back into work mode. It was amazing just how much he could affect with without even being present in person. She had never had this sort of reaction with a boyfriend from a simple text exchange. However, she had to admit, nothing was ever simple when it came to Rick Castle. He was one in a million. Frowning, she shifted, sitting back on the edge of her desk. She crossed her arms under her breasts, once again returning her concentration to the case.

Maybe, she speculated, Naomi somehow got into that party last night and that's where she met her killer. As things went, Beckett thought that was as good a theory as any other. She twisted her torso around to reach for her coffee, and gritted her teeth at the twinge of pain when the scar along her side pulled just a bit. It had been well over a year now since her life saving surgery, yet her scars still lingered to remind her just how close to death she had come.

Stifling it down, Beckett grabbed her mug and took a slow, long sip of the warm brew, ignoring the terrible battery-acid quality of the precinct coffee. During her suspension, Castle had spoiled her, always providing her with a grande skim latte, with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla that he would purchase from their favorite coffee shop. He had even bought an espresso machine for their apartment, but try as she might, Beckett could never seem to make herself a decent cup from it. Castle had magic skills when it came to brewing the delicious morning beverage, occasionally adding a flourish with foam art, his favorite being a stylized heart. Rick Castle was a man of many hidden talents.

Missing the superior coffee, Beckett licked her lips, and considered stepping out briefly to rush down the block to a café that served decent coffee. But before she could decide, she caught sight of her colleagues emerging from the elevator and strolling over to join her.

"Hey guys, did you find anything at Naomi's apartment?" she asked, abandoning the horrible coffee and standing up.

"No," Ryan started, "but someone else might have."

"It's been tossed," Esposito interjected, earning a peeved look from his partner. Espo merely smirked. "Not only that, but the neighbor said they saw a man leaving the apartment late last night."

Before he could continue, Ryan cut him off, retaking control of the briefing. "The neighbor ID'd him off the sketch. It's the same guy who fled the murder scene."

Nodding, Beckett turned to stare over at the drawing tacked up on the whiteboard. "He couldn't find what he was looking for in the motel, so he searched her place," she surmised.

"Yeah," Ryan said, nodding his head. "But this time he left a footprint."

"Meaning?" Beckett knitted her eyebrows together.

"Well," Ryan took out his notepad. "Unis canvassed around the apartment with the sketch." He flipped through the pages. "He bought a bottle of single malt with a credit card a couple of blocks away." Ryan unfolded a piece of paper, presumably the results of the credit card search.

Beckett took the printout and read its contents, quickly locating the name of the card holder.

"Colin Hunt," she announced. Then glanced up at her boys. "What do we have on him?"

"Nothing in the system," Esposito spoke this time, crossing his arm over his chest. "But I ran a trace on the credit card."

"Bingo!" Ryan exclaimed, way too enthusiastically, and shared a fist bump with Esposito.

Beckett watched the two with an amused expression, glad to see the pair back to joking around with one another. Noticing that she was watching them, they both straightened. She worked at suppressing a grin.

"And?" she prompted.

A smug smirk touched Esposito's mouth. "He checked into the Mondaray in SoHo this morning."

Turning to the whiteboard, Beckett snatched up the Expo marker from the tray and quickly added this new information to the notes. "Great work, guys," she said, dropping the marker back down and stepping over to her desk to retrieve her service weapon and coat. "Ryan, check in with CSU on the motel room, see if they've found anything more."

He nodded, jogging over to his desk to make a call to the crime scene unit. Beckett holstered her Glock, and swung her arms through her coat, tossing her hair up over the back collar. She glanced towards the remainder of the crime solving duo.

"Espo, you're with me. We'll pay Mr. Hunt a visit."

He showed a bit of teeth, his eyes going alight with the thrill of the chase. "Wouldn't miss it."

XXX

The gulfstream jet landed an hour ago in a rural airfield that had long since been abandoned by any legitimate outfit. Now it was controlled by him. The two pilots, along with CIA Agent Gavin Huxley were bound and taken to the holding area. Kilmer stayed on board and supervised the dismantling of the locater beacon in the cockpit console. He already knew how Huxley's superior at the CIA would react to the abrupt silence, and that would be to cover up all traces of the operation. ADD Dan Kovaks was like that. He only cared about covering his ass.

Raymond Kilmer, also known as _The Knave_, had not been idle since the Assistant Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency had betrayed him in New York, arranging for his stash house—that had held valuable documents that Kilmer had wanted as insurance—booty trapped with explosives. He had been forced to deliberately spring the trap to make a getaway when the heat following the assassination of the American Vice President got too hot.

After making his escape, Kilmer had fled overseas. Needing to recoup his losses, he had set to work taking over Johann Kriedt's organization. His reputation as _The Knave_ preceded him, so it only took a handful of weeks to seize total power and control over the deceased arms dealer's vast international network. Any competition he'd encountered had been easily dealt with. Once control was firmly in his grasp, Kilmer turned his new resources towards crafting his vengeance.

Dan Kovaks had been a go between, serving more as a source within the Company than anything else. But he wasn't Kilmer's only link inside the clandestine agency, making the Assistant Deputy Director expendable, an acceptable loss. He bypassed the middle man, and spoke directly, via an untraceable phone line, to Kovaks' contact within the Consortium, codename _Lazarus_. The larger scheme was still a go, and money was soon deposited in his offshore accounts. Kilmer prided himself on fulfilling every contract personally. He abhorred leaving jobs unfinished.

Yet last May, he had been forced to abandon a contract, which irritated him still, all these months later. His contract to eliminate a certain bitch cop remained incomplete. He'd tried numerous times to kill her: shooting her at a funeral, throwing her off a roof, and he had even bombed her apartment—but Kate Beckett survived every attempt. The woman had lives like a cat. She just kept coming back. It grated on his nerves. It didn't help that she had ensnared Rick Castle with her feminine wiles. He had history with the cocky agent, unfinished business that needed rectifying. Yet, still that success was elusive, as with that bitch cop. He didn't get it, the attraction. Sure, she was a hot piece of ass, but beyond that, in his learned opinion, she was just long legs and a pretty face.

Satisfied with his technicians' work on the homing device in the cockpit, Kilmer ducked out of the hatch and walked down the landing steps, pursing his lips as the cool evening breeze hit his face. He checked the digital readout on his wristwatch. Time zones were a damned nuisance. He had contacts on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, and in other parts of North and South America, whose day would just be getting started, while his was close to an end. He was expecting a long night ahead. There was an ongoing operation in the New York City area that was crucial to the Consortium's plans. He just hoped there wouldn't be any interference from the NYPD, which was a possibility judging from the last update he'd received.

When he reached the flat pavement of the runway, his phone buzzed. He took it out, glanced at the area code and smiled.

"Lazarus," he greeted his contact by his alias. Even though they spoke via encrypted lines, it was always safe not to use their real names.

"_Is the asset in place_?"

"Yes," Kilmer confirmed. "However, it is likely we might receive some interference from _her_. My sources within the NYPD say she's working a case that has potential overlap."

"_You don't need to worry, Knave_," Lazarus asserted, annoyed. "_The deal is still on_."

Kilmer narrowed his eyes as he considered, remaining silent.

"_I know you disapproved, but it was a necessary evil_," Lazarus continued, confident and commanding. "_However, you have my permission to engage if it becomes imperative to maintain the secrecy of the operation_."

"Good," Kilmer replied. "I despise loose ends."

"_I know, I know_," Lazarus assured. "_So do I. But patience is a virtue. Soon, my friend. Soon. But until the time is right, the protocols remain active. Proceed as planned._"

Kilmer didn't like it, but he always held up his end of the bargain. "Affirmative."

"_Next payment shall arrive by the end of the week_."

"I shall look for it," and then he hung up.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Kilmer suppress the growing irritation with the Consortium's position on Rick Castle and his lady detective. Though it severely vexed him, he could overlook it, for the time being. He had other fish to fry. Kovaks still needed to pay for his betrayal. And Kilmer had plans for that. Thankfully, they aligned with the Consortium, which was the only reason—besides the considerable pay—why he still took instructions from their representatives.

Strolling down the airstrip, Kilmer released a breath, and squinted in the dim light, his focus now shifted to the task ahead. He headed for the outlining building that comprised the barracks and stores for his organization. He was keen to begin an enhanced interrogation of CIA Officer Gavin Huxley. He wondered how the spy would react to having the shoe on the other foot. A twisted smile formed across his determined face.

It promised to be an entertaining evening.

XXX

Beckett and Esposito walked into the lobby of the Mondaray Hotel in SoHo, and immediately went to the front desk, where she asked to speak with the manager. After a brief discussion, where the hotel manager tossed out words like _probable cause_ and _warrant_, Beckett was able to convince him that if he didn't want the hotel's other guests wondering why a SWAT team was bursting through the doors, then he should stop giving them the run around. He complied easily after that, sending one of the front desk clerks up to the ninth floor with a master key.

On the elevator ride up, Beckett noticed Esposito staring at her.

"What?" she asked in a quiet voice, mindful of the hotel employee in the lift with them.

"Just wondering how you're handling your boy being away," he replied after a beat, casually glancing up at the blinking numbers on the display above the doors.

Beckett pursed her lips and stifled the annoyed eye roll that wanted out. "Not you too," she grumbled, half under her breath.

He made a _huh_ noise and shifted towards her with a quizzical gaze.

She shrugged. "Lanie asked the same thing last night," she informed him with a tone that should have warned him off the topic. Sadly, it didn't. He was feeling brave.

"Well, she does have a point," he replied with a shrug of his own.

"Didn't you two break up?" she interjected, trying to change the subject.

Esposito squirmed a little under her piercing gaze, but didn't relent. "It was a mutual decision," he lied, trying to evade. She knew otherwise, but decided to allow him his masculine pride. He quickly returned back to the original topic. "He's been gone, what… two months? That's longer than doctor motorcycle boy was ever gone on one of those Doctors Without Borders things. You sure about him? I've done some digging." He shook his head. "Not much there, to be honest, but what I was able to find didn't really paint a nice picture of your boy."

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're playing the overprotective brother with me right now? I'm a big girl, Javi, I can handle myself."

"I know," he agreed, but not convincingly. "Just saying, guy's not around much. And when he is… _stuff_ happens."

"That's not his fault, Espo," she defended, giving him one of her famous glares. "And you know it."

"So…," he drawled out, realizing he'd crossed a line. "I should stop talking then?"

She hummed in the affirmative. He held up his hands in surrender, but Beckett had a twisted feeling in her gut that this wasn't the last time she'd hear this, and frankly, it annoyed her. Did none of her friends trust her to make her own decisions? She didn't know which part of it she found more irritating, the overprotectiveness or the presumption that they knew better than her. It was her life, dammit. She knew what she wanted, _who_ she wanted, and she didn't need anyone butting in and telling her what they thought. Thankfully, she was saved from having to dwell any further on the subject when the elevator bell dinged, announcing their arrival on the ninth floor.

Strutting out first, Beckett stalked down the corridor with an air of command and authority, her face in a determined, professional set. Esposito paced steadily behind her, wearing a stoic mask, letting their whole conversation fade away in favor of the job. The job came first. It always did. The hotel employee hurried after them, looking uncomfortable after being audience to their awkwardly personal conversation. Beckett shared his feelings.

"This the room?" she asked the clerk, gesturing towards the door.

He nodded. Beckett drew her Glock from its holster as she took the keycard from him. Esposito pulled his own weapon out, and held it at the ready as he stood on the other side of the door. She glanced at him and he inclined his head. Beckett slid the keycard into the slot, and waited for the lights to flash green and the clunk of the bolts unlocking, before turning the handle and pushing the door wide.

Raising his gun, Esposito charged in first through the opening, Beckett on his six. It was a nice room, more like a small suite, with a lounge area situated separately from the bedroom. Holding her gun up, Beckett swung in around the small sofa, scanning for signs of their suspect.

He materialized not long after, walking casually around the corner, naked save for a small towel draped around his trim waist. His skin glistened, and his sandy blond hair was still damp from the shower he'd just emerged from. Beckett shifted her stance, as did Esposito, moving up on her right side to get a sight on the man.

"NYPD! Show me your hands!" Esposito shouted.

"You're making a mistake," the man contended, hands busy, attempting to cinch the towel around his waist. It was absurdly tiny for the purpose of covering himself.

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before," Beckett scoffed, adjusting her aim. "Hands in the air. Now."

The glistening man rolled his eyes, a small smirk twisting onto his lips. "If you insist."

He raised his hands above his head and, at the same moment, the hastily tied knot on his towel loosened and slipped free. The white cotton fabric, still damp and heavy, fell to the floor, giving both Beckett and Esposito an eyeful.

"Whoa! Dude!" groaned Esposito, trying to avert his gaze.

Beckett, however, unfazed by the indecent exposure, kept her eyes locked on the naked man, showing no surprise or awe, as she presumed he was hoping from her, at the impressive display of masculinity. He wasn't bad. She'd grant him that. Not bad at all. But she'd seen better. Was currently dating better.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the naked man said with a cocksure grin. "Detective Inspector Colin Hunt, Scotland Yard."


	5. Chapter 4

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 4**_

* * *

Colin Hunt was a long way from home. He claimed to knew Naomi Allen. According to Hunt, her father, Terrence Allen, had been his first partner on the job. Naomi was like a kid sister to him. And when Terrence passed away, Hunt had promised her family he'd look after her. Hunt had been in Washington, D.C. the day before, attending a law enforcement seminar, which checked out too, multiple attendees confirmed his presence at lectures and a group luncheon. He claimed that Naomi had called him, panicked. She told him she was in trouble and needed his help. Hunt had then dropped everything and immediately grabbed the next flight out, but by the time he arrived he was too late.

"And your first instinct was to flee the crime scene?" Beckett had asked back in the hotel room, astonished at the man's gall.

"I didn't flee," Hunt had insisted, meeting her hard stare without so much as a flinch. "I left. She was dead. There was nothing else to do."  
"Yeah, except to maybe hang around and give the police a statement," she had grumbled, sharing an annoyed look with Esposito, who had nodded in agreement. Hunt's actions had resulted in them wasting time tracking him down, instead of the real killer.

"The room had been searched," Hunt had persisted, ignoring their exasperated stares. "And whoever killed her was looking for something. I thought they might try her apartment next. By the time I got there it had already been tossed. Look, I know I shouldn't have been investigating." He'd flashed her a contrite expression. "But if you were in a foreign country and someone you loved was killed, what would you do?"

Beckett knew what she would do. She'd run down the bastard responsible and serve him a world of justice. But this wasn't about her. Instead she'd asked him what he had been looking for.

"When he was on the job, Naomi's dad used to stash a gun in the lining of his Kevlar," Hunt had explained. "When Naomi started modeling as a teenager he didn't want her on the underground without any protection, so he taught her to cut a tiny piece of lining in her jacket to stash pepper spray. That's where I found it. A message to me. About her killer."

When Hunt wouldn't hand it over she had threatened to arrest him for withholding evidence, but he stood his ground, meeting her eye for eye. He offered her what was no doubt meant to be a charming smile, and had requested to join the case.

It wasn't until they'd taken him back to the precinct that they learned his story was on the level. Beckett joined Gates when they contacted Hunt's superior for verification. His supervisor at Scotland Yard said Colin Hunt was one of their best. Even Captain Gates was impressed with his record, and that was no small feat. Beckett had expected a little more push back from Gates when it came to Detective Inspector Hunt joining the investigation, especially with his personal connection to the victim, but it appeared that her captain was full of surprises. From past experience, she knew that Gates did not like outsiders in her precinct. Last May, she had only accepted—more like tolerated—Castle's presence because of the Agency's fabricated FBI badge and credentials he'd presented to her. So, when Gates approved Hunt's request to join the case in a consulting role, it left her nonplussed.

Stepping out of Gates's office, Beckett walked across the bullpen to where the hunky Brit was sitting in the chair beside her desk. Esposito was lurking nearby, arms crossed, trying to look intimidating. It was a little ridiculous. Colin Hunt was a big man, and they'd both received quite an eyeful proving just that. Hunt was fit. She'd glimpsed the raw strength rippling beneath his toned muscles when he'd bent down to retrieve that wayward towel, also got a great view of his backside, which was splendid, but she preferred the magnificent ass of a different man. Still, she saw no harm in at least appreciating a good view.

"So?" Hunt questioned as she approached.

"You're in," Beckett announced.

"What!?" gasped Esposito in astonishment.

"Your superiors couldn't stop singing your praises," she elaborated, ignoring her colleague's outburst. "Gates was… impressed."

"You make it sound like that's a surprise," Hunt noted, standing up.

Beckett arched her neck and glanced back at Gates, watching her captain watching them. Gates narrowed her eyes through the window, before moving away to answer the ringing phone on her desk.

"It's different," she replied with a shrug, returning her focus to the handsome Brit. "Look, we had a deal. What did Naomi give you?"

Without hesitation, Hunt reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a keychain, handing it over to her. Beckett took it, shivering when his fingertips brushed along her palm when he deposited the item in her outstretched hand. Her eyes flicked up and she saw him staring back at her, watching. It was a little unnerving.

"A key?" Esposito's exclamation snapped her out of it. "Dude. You said she left you a message."

"This is the message," Hunt asserted with a roll of his shoulders, gesturing to the key Beckett held aloft in her fingers, eyes narrowed as she examined it. "She put it there for me to find. I guarantee it has something to do with her death."

"It looks commercial," Beckett noted.

"It's an Arco-Rifkin 1130R," the Detective Inspector informed them. "Mostly used for lockers found at train stations or health clubs."

"All right," Beckett inclined her head, brow furrowing as she thought. "Well, I'll have uniforms canvass the area around her apartment and the hotel. We'll see if any of the businesses have lockers that use this kind of key."  
"Hey, Beckett, I got something," Ryan came rushing over from his desk, skidding to a halt when he encountered the tall blonde Adonis.

"Uh, Detective Ryan, this is Detective Inspector Colin Hunt," she offered introductions. "He's from Scotland Yard. He's going to be consulting on this case. He knows our victim." She added the last bit after a curious look from Ryan.

"Oh," Ryan said after a beat. He glanced up at the man, offered his hand. "Hello, how's it going?"

Hunt took his hand and shook it. "Pleasure, mate."

Last time they had an outsider join them on an investigation, it had been Richard Castle. And they'd really fumbled over their cover story for his presence, initially claiming he was a mystery novelist with a severe case of writer's block, and that he would be shadowing her—his muse—around for inspiration. The story sounded better as a premise for a promising television show. However, after the events of last May, her colleagues now knew the truth, or a mild case of the truth, which was a weight of her shoulders. As far as she knew, Captain Gates still thought Castle was an FBI agent, but Beckett had an inkling that her commanding officer had suspicions as to the true nature of his employment.

"So, what do you got?" Beckett asked after the pleasantries were observed.

"Okay, okay…," Ryan bobbed his head. "Naomi did make it to that album release party last night at the club in Midtown. But she was kicked out by security around 10 o'clock."

"Why?" Hunt asked, frowning.

Ryan flicked his gaze up towards the Brit. "According to security she had an altercation with the host." He removed a photo from his folder and added it to the whiteboard. "Female rapper and ex-felon Nicki J. And she wasn't afraid to take a swing in front of paparazzi."

"Wow," Beckett raised her eyebrows, stepping up to the board and examining the photographic proof of that. That was some left hook. Turning back around, she frowned. "Do we know what the fight was about?"

Shaking his head, Ryan said, "Unclear, but uniforms are bringing Nicki J up to interrogation now."

Nodding, Beckett accepted the files from the young detective, and opened the folder to review the information as she headed towards the interrogation rooms. She was so absorbed reading through the notes that she didn't realize Colin Hunt had tagged along behind her. She was getting a weird vibe from him. It was odd. She had trouble reading him. Perhaps it was because she'd seen him naked, and that was messing with her focus. Whatever it was, Beckett felt certain he was being honest about Naomi Allen and her importance to him, yet her gut was telling that wasn't the whole truth. There was something more to it, she just couldn't make out what that was.

"Do you usually question them solo?" Hunt asked, offering her an affable smile.

"No, not always, Ryan or Esposito usually go in with me," she answered politely, trying to get a read on this outsider.

"Well," he carded his fingers through his sandy blond locks, letting out some anxious energy. "Mind if I tag in?"

She stared at him for a long beat, weighing her options, before shrugging her shoulders, stifling the misgivings churning in her stomach. "Sure, why not." Jerking her head down the hallway, she added, "Interrogation is this way."

XXX

He rammed his fist into the man's gut again, lips pursed in a tight line. Gavin Huxley grunted out in pain, his body attempting to contract in objection, but unable to do much beside rock back and forth from the momentum of the punch. He hung suspended from the ceiling by his arms as if he was a punching bag, bruised and bloody. He let out a sniveling groan, head lulling forward as he struggled through his torment.

Stepping back, Kilmer spit down on the ground and turned his back to Huxley, ignoring the pathetic man's gasps and whimpers. He'd worked up quite a sweat pounding on Huxley. His throat was parched. Kilmer grabbed a water bottle off the table, unscrewed the cap and took a long, refreshing gulp. Glancing back at the CIA agent, he taunted him with the water bottle, playing like he was going to give him a sip, but just as Huxley's eyes seem to light with hope, Kilmer turned it upside down, letting the refreshing liquid fall uselessly to the filthy ground. The water gurgled as it spun down built-in drain in the concrete floor. Crumpling up the plastic bottle, he tossed it aside.

"This can stop," Kilmer said, voice calm and almost indifferent. There was no frustration or temper in his voice. It was almost monotone, as if he was bored. "You have what I want. You know you do. All you have to do is tell me, and then this will all be over."

Huxley swung slightly back and forth, one brow swelling so much he couldn't see out of his left eye. He coughed and wheezed, shaking his head.

"I… I can't," he managed to squeeze out, hoarse and strained.

Kilmer's eyes darkened. He clenched his hand into a fist. "You're going to give me the codes, Agent Huxley," he promised. "One way or another, you're going to give them up." And then he swung again, pounding his fist harder into Huxley's stomach, quickly springing back for another strike in the solar plexus, and then a double tap to the face and kidneys.

Flicking his gaze over his shoulder, Kilmer nodded. The chain holding Huxley up rattled as it lowered. The man fell into a crumpled heap on the concrete floor, covered in his own piss and blood. Kilmer grimaced silently, but ignored it. He flexed his hand, and slowly stalked forward. Huxley trembled at his approach, drawing back, his one good eye wide with terror.

With a blank expression, the Knave crouched down and placed a gentle hand on the back of the man's neck, holding him still. He leaned forward, as if he was comforting him.

"Tell me," he hissed into Huxley's ear. "And you'll live."

Huxley crumbled, surrendering under the overwhelming pressure and fear. A tight grin gradually work its way across Kilmer's mouth as he got precisely what he wanted.

XXX

A buzzing woke him up.

Castle blinked sleepily.

The buzzing continued. Groaning, he frowned, shifting on the uncomfortable cot, groping around in the semi-darkness for the infernal device. His fingers skimmed over the smooth flat surface of the obsolete looking flip-phone, the TCD-74, the special communications device provided to him by the CIA half a decade ago. Since joining York's task force, he had been offered an updated model, but Castle preferred the older, more reliable TCD-74. One reason being that it was damn near difficult to trace.

Grunting, Castle flipped the phone open and blinked in the sudden flash of bright light that filled the small cubicle he was bunking in. Squinting, he stared down at the words that appeared on the small screen. His brow rose when his sleep addled mind finally comprehended what he was reading. Sitting up in the cot, he turned to wake his companion, then stopped, only then remembering that he was not in bed back at their Gramercy Park apartment, and that Kate Beckett wasn't sleeping beside him.

Castle let out a grunt of displeasure. He missed her. The sound of her voice, the touch of her lips, the feel of her slender, strong body beneath, above, around him. He scrubbed a hand down his face as the dream world collapsed around him, supplanted by the harsh cold truth of reality.

Ignoring the pull of work for a moment longer, Castle called up the photo she had sent him last night—no, that had been earlier this morning. A warm feeling filled his chest when her gorgeous face filled the small screen on his archaic looking flip-phone. She was so beautiful, inside and out. He honestly didn't know what he'd done to deserve her love. Her long hair was curling slightly in the late summer heat, and her smile was infectious. But as his mouth quirked up to match her beaming smile, his lips faltered, tipping down into a frown as he remembered.

Kate Beckett trusted him. And what had he'd done with that precious gift? He'd betrayed her, going behind her back to make a deal with the devil. He would have to tell her soon. It was only a matter of time until she realized the USB drive he had given her was more than a safe guard, encrypting and concealing her online searches, but also a digital blocker, keeping her away from any information that might make her bold enough to make a move. It had only been thanks to his considerable training in espionage that Castle had managed to bluff his way into a deal with Bracken. And he couldn't risk Bracken calling his bluff.

Closing his eyes, he reminded himself of the ultimate goal.

Kate Beckett had to live.

Rick Castle would sacrifice anything to ensure that. Even her love.

Exhaling softly, he let the remorse wash over him as he stared back down at the adorable selfie she'd sent him. She would be angry at him, rightfully so. She may even never forgive him. In doing this, Castle knew he ran the risk of losing her completely. It was a risk he had to take. Though in time, he hoped, she would understand. If their roles had been reversed, she would have done the same, of that he had no doubt.

The phone buzzed again, and a text message popped up over Kate Beckett's smiling face.

"Fine," Castle grunted, flicking the phone shut and rolling off the cot. He grabbed his jacket and flung it over his shoulders as he pushed his way out of the cramped quarters, leaving the tie abandoned inside.

Stalking down the corridor, Castle followed the exposed pipes and cables above his head. He checked the time, noting that it was late afternoon in New York. Kate would probably still be working. She was a workaholic, especially when he was away. He sent her a quick message, before pocketing the TCD-47 and hooking right at the T-junction.

Samson York and Jackson Hunt had been using this abandoned facility for a while to run their covert investigations into an organization known as the Consortium, but it wasn't until the assassination of Vice President Russell that York had been able to get the official blessing, and the funding that came with that, from CIA Director Reynold's office to create the task force. And Operation Mongoose was born.

When Castle had first visited the former black site, the underground structure had been nearly deserted, with only Senior Agent Jackson Hunt and a handful of squinty eyed computer techs manning the operations center. Now, under the mandate of Operation Mongoose, the facility boasted a staff of well over one hundred, comprised of techs, analysts, and field agents, like him. Most of them had come to refer to the facility as 'The Bunker'.

Turning left at another junction, Castle followed the tangle of power and optical cables that ran alongside one of the walls, following them through a series of turns until he arrived at the heavy steel door that secured the command center. He stepped up to the security pad mounted on the left side of the door and punched in the passcode. There was an electronic whirl and buzz, and the screen flashed, the digital number keyboard disappearing. Castle placed his right hand on the monitor, spreading his fingers wide. Running his tongue over his teeth, he silently counted off the number of seconds it took the scan to complete. The machine beeped, and the clunk-clunk of the tumblers unbolting sounded. There was another buzz, and Castle opened the door.

The high-resolution monitors on the far wall were cycling through satellite feeds of Eastern Europe. The central screen displayed the personnel dossier of Gavin Huxley. And judging from the frantic activity of the techs and analysts up near the command platform, Castle felt confident in assuming there had been no progress in locating the missing agent. Jackson Hunt stood up there, straight and tall, a commanding presence amongst all the computer geeks hunched over their terminals. He was looming over Vikram, who was jabbering away in technical talk Castle could even begin to understand.

"Castle, over here," said a familiar voice.

Startled, he turned, astonished to see a friendly face.

Agent Martin Danberg had been an amazing ally the past year or so. He had been of great assistance when Sophia Turner turned on the Agency, supporting Castle in protecting Alexis Harper and the Spyglass program she had developed from falling into the traitor's hands. Danberg had then backed Castle's play during the events of last May, helping him learn more about Johanna Beckett's murder and maintaining Castle's cover as a FBI agent so that he could work alongside Kate Beckett in the NYPD's Twelfth Precinct. Recently, Danberg had helped him with holding up his end of the deal with Bracken, a task that would forever put the other man in his debt.

Castle turned away from the center of activity and veered off to the left, meeting his friend halfway. They shook hands, like good colleagues and friends, eyes locked, sharing mutual respect and admiration.

"Martin, what are you doing here?" Castle asked, but received no answer from his friend.

Danberg inclined his head to the right, and Castle nodded, following his lead as the other agent guided him down an aisle of computer terminals and work stations, heading for an alcove off to the side that held a small area that reminded Castle of the break room at the Twelfth Precinct. It made him think of Kate again, his heart clenching with a combination of guilt and longing.

"What's going on?" he questioned in a quiet voice, returning to the present.

Picking up a leather satchel he'd stored under the small table there, Danberg retrieved a manila envelope. He offered it to Castle without so much as a word.

Frowning, Castle unraveled the string to unseal the envelope, puzzled by the other man's behavior. He opened it and reached inside, pulling out three printouts. Castle put them down on the table, nudging them apart to study each in turn. One was a criminal sketch artist's rendering of a man with rugged good looks, a light beard covering his strong chin and jaw. His eyes skimmed over the rendering, pausing briefly when he spotted the NYPD logo stamped in the corner. His gaze flicked up to Danberg, brow furrowed. The second printout was of a screenshot from an airport CCTV camera of the same man disembarking from a plane. And the third was another sketch of the imposing bearded man, but this one was labeled in German, with corresponding emblems.

"What's this?"

"You remember Ana Cavendish?" Danberg inquired, serious with a hint of concern leaking through.

Castle squinted his eyes, nodding. "Vaguely."

Danberg tapped his finger on the first facial composite. "NYPD sent out a BOLO late last night of this sketch," he explained. "I thought I recognized him, so I had Riley run facial recognition."

"And?"

"Ana Cavendish," Danberg repeated. "She was with MI6. I ran some joint Ops with her a couple of years back. Good woman. Eight months ago, she was found dead in a flophouse in Berlin, strangled." He tapped the other sketch, the one with the German lettering. "Witnesses there gave the BPOL the same description. He was seen leaving the vicinity not long before her body was found."

Knitting his eyebrows together, Castle picked up the two sketches, holding them side by side as he compared each illustration. There were tiny variations in the shape of the nose and brow, and curve of the jawline, but there was no mistaking that he was looking at a drawing of the same man.

Castle glanced up at Danberg with an arched brow, skeptical. "And you think this man killed Cavendish?"  
"Maybe… perhaps," he deflated a little, uncharacteristically doubtful. He had never seen his friend so rattled, not even after Sophia Turner was unmasked as a traitor and double-agent.

"What does your gut say?" Castle suggested.

Pursing his lips, Danberg narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "I don't know," he offered with a shrug, looking disappointed in himself for not being as certain as he felt he should be. "It's a fifty-fifty chance he's involved, but that might not be the case. Very least… he knows something. It might be nothing, but this is the best lead I've had in months. At this point, Rick, I'm just grasping at straws, to be honest."

"Okay," Castle nodded, gazing back down at the printouts of the facial composites. "Why are you bringing this to me? Were you tight with Cavendish?"

Danberg's eyes snapped up to his, an expression that was a blend of embarrassment and guilt flashed across his normally stoic countenance. It was a look Castle recognized.

"We had a thing," he admitted after a single heartbeat. "Off and on for three years. You know how it is for us. It's hard to find true companionship in this job."

Squinting at his friend, Castle made a guess. "So it was more than the sex?" he inquired, and when Danberg didn't say anything, he had his answer. "Who ended it?"

"She did, a year and a half ago, not too long before that mess with Turner," Danberg said, staring down at the table, a frown marring his face. He could tell that his friend still grieved. "Never said why. Just told me we were over."

Castle placed a hand on Danberg's shoulder, sympathizing. He also realized that now he understood why Danberg had been so willing to help him out in regards to his own relationship with Kate Beckett. The man was a romantic at heart, he just hid it well. Danberg pursed his lips and glanced up, giving him a nod of thanks.

"I'm sorry," he offered in a soft, sincere voice.

"She was one of the good ones, Castle," Danberg said, forcing himself to look back up. "And that's hard to find in this line of work."

Castle waited a second or two before responding. "I hear you." He paused, watched as Danberg took a calming breath. "Do you know why Cavendish was in Berlin?"

"I made some calls," he said. "My contact at MI6 couldn't access much, the Op was highly classified, but he gleamed enough from it to know Ana was embedded with a modeling agency that had ties to sex trafficking and money laundering."

"You think her cover was blown?"

"It's possible," Danberg agreed, hesitant, brow furrowed. "But I don't see how. She was good, Castle. Very good at her job."

"Didn't have to be on her end," he suppled. "Could have been a leak within MI6 that gave her up." He knitted his eyebrows together. "Do you know the name of this modeling agency?"

"No, that's all my contact was able to get," Danberg said with a shrug. "Most of the files were either above his clearance level or heavily redacted."

He took a moment to absorb all the information. When he'd first seen Danberg in the operations center, Castle had assumed he was here on either Agency business or their off-the-books investigation into Senator William Bracken. But after what he'd just learned, he suspected his friend was calling in a favor, of which he had numerous.

"Okay," Castle said slowly, deliberately drawing it out. "So, what is it that you need from me?"

Danberg blinked, surprised. "I don't understand?"

"I owe you, Martin," Castle said, sincere and apologetic. "And I'm willing to help you track this guy down, get some of the answers you need, closure, but I've got my hands full right now. So—" He lowered his voice, lest they be overheard, "can it wait until after we take Bracken down."

Shaking his head, Danberg snatched the printout of the screenshot from the airport CCTV. "I appreciate that, Rick, but this isn't about that," he asserted. "This man was spotted arriving at JFK the other day. And then last night the NYPD put out an BOLO with a sketch matching his description."

"So?"

"The BOLO was issued by Detective Javier Esposito," Danberg said. "And you know what that means, Rick. This guy's a person of interest in a homicide case Kate Beckett is probably running point on."

XXX

Detective Inspector Colin Hunt impressed her with his interrogation skills. They played off one another well during the interviews. After playing the run around with Nicki J, she led them to "her man" and music producer, Biggie Slim. Through Biggie Slim they learned that Naomi had been acting paranoid at the party, convinced someone was after her, but he didn't know who. Beckett sent Esposito out to canvass the area around the party venue to run down that lead, see if they could find evidence that she was being followed by someone. Both Nicki J and Biggie Slim claimed each other as alibis. They were going to need to run down the driver to confirm the story that they went home together. She sent uniforms out to find the driver.

Beckett took the Detective Inspector with her down to autopsy to receive the medical examiner's oral report. Lanie confirmed time of death, meaning Naomi had died three hours after she'd left the album launch party. Beckett made a reminder in her notepad to add that to the whiteboard.

"Her larynx was crushed," Lanie informed her. "Whoever did it was strong. Large hands. Probably a male."

Beckett let out a huff. "That's like half the city."

"You may be able to narrow it down a little further than that," Lanie assured, gesturing for them to follow her over to the examination table. She gently pulled the sheet down over the body, down to the collarbones, remaining respectful and maintaining the young woman's modesty by keeping her chest covered. She indicated the bruising around the throat. "The pressure from the killer's grip left a print on her neck."

Beckett cast a cautious glance over at Hunt, knowing that his personal connection to the victim might make viewing her body like this, on an autopsy slab, distressing. When she glanced at him, he appeared transfixed, staring unblinkingly at Naomi's face. Knitting her eyebrows together in concern, she reached out and lightly touched his arm in sympathy, gently squeezing his bicep, before redirecting her attention to Lanie.

"Were you able to pull a print?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows.

Lanie looked contrite, as if she'd unnecessarily raised everyone's hopes. "We were able to pull a partial thanks to the body lotion she was wearing," she said, picking a folder up off the tray.

Beckett accepted the file, opening it up to start reading the information on the file inside. "Is it in the system?"

Shaking her head, Lanie informed her, "Not enough to run, but you bring me a print from a suspect and I can tell you if it's a match."

"Um… excuse me," Hunt interjected, flashing them an apologetic look. "I have to make a call."

Startled by his abrupt announcement, Beckett watched as he hurriedly departed the room, pushing through the door and heading for the hallway. Lanie, not oblivious, gently lifted the sheet back over Naomi, and reached up to shut off the examination light. Frowning, Beckett moved to leave, but her friend stopped her with a look.

"Easy on the eyes," Lanie noted, causing Beckett to roll hers. "Cute accent, too."

Beckett shifted her feet and turned back to her friend, pursing her lips as she stared back.

"I just got one question?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's Castle?"

Confused, Beckett narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. "What?"

"Spy Boy's not here, girl," Lanie reminded her. "He could be anywhere, doing God knows what, with God knows _who_. Just… while he's not around, perhaps you should allow yourself to have some fun. And Mister Scotland Yard there is yummy. Very yummy. You should totally take him for a ride while you have—"

"Lanie!" Beckett growled, shaking her head in amazement at her friend's suggestion. "I thought we went over this last night. I'm in a relationship with Castle."

"But—"

"A _committed_ relationship," she insisted, not letting Lanie get a word in edgewise. Taking a step forward, she glanced around to see if anyone else was in autopsy. "And this isn't like the others, Lanie. Will. Tom. Josh. With all of them I always had one foot out the door. It's different with Castle. I'm all in with him. Completely. Lanie… I love him. So, I'd appreciate it if you stopped with this… _insistence_ that I need to have _fun_."

Lanie stared at her for a long beat, rendered speechless. Beckett took some pride in that. It wasn't that often she'd managed to do that to her best friend. Blinking, Lanie shook her head and gave her a dumbfounded look.

"All right," she said at length, not entirely sounding convince, but willing to listen. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Beckett said. "And Lanie, I mean it. I'm not interested in having a fling with some guy, simply because he's handsome and… available for a bit of _fun_, as you call it. That's not who I am. Never was, and you know it. I'm sorry."

"Don't," Lanie waved her hand. "You be you, Kate. I'll be me." She paused, hesitating, watching Beckett with an expression that managed to mingle both concern and curiosity at once. "You trust him?"

Beckett knew what Lanie was asking, and part of her wanted to be angry at her for implying that Castle would cheat on her. The very suggestion of it made her furious. And there was a part of her that was truly touched by the overwhelming love and support that radiated from her friend's expressive eyes. But Beckett didn't have that worry. Rick Castle would never betray her. He loved her. Yes, she was aware of his past. But he'd changed. He had made a promise to her. And she to him.

Raising her chin, Beckett returned her friend's questioning gaze with one of firm conviction. "Yes," she declared. "I trust him."


	6. Chapter 5

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 5**_

* * *

She found him out in the hallway. He hadn't gone far, leaning against the wall at the far end of the corridor, head bowed, eyes miles away. Beckett hesitated for a moment, uncertain, before deciding he might welcome some company. She waited for a lab technician to walk past, taking out her phone and checking her messages.

There was one from Castle, and it made her smile. She couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach and the warm feeling that washed over her. It was silly. Beckett felt absurd reacting such a way to a simple text, even if it was from a man telling her he was thinking of her, and missed her, loved her. Chewing on her lower lip, Beckett turned around in place, facing the autopsy doors as she lowered her head, allowing the curtain of her hair to shield her blushing cheeks.

Honestly, she was still getting used to all these feelings swelling up inside her chest. It was strange how being in love with someone, truly in love for the first time, brought out all these emotions and feelings she'd tapped down and stifled since her mother's death. It was like a part of her was reawakening. A rebirth, so to speak, and it was wonderful.

Carding a hand through her hair, she heaved in a deep breath, and tried to settle herself. She sent a reply back, mirroring his loving sentiments.

Schooling her features, she glanced over her shoulder as the lab technician strolled by. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Beckett took two more calming breaths, still astonished at how easily she was turned into a lovesick teenager by a simple text from her boyfriend. Castle just did things to her that no one ever had before, even—apparently—when he was miles and miles away. That ability was one of the numerous things that attracted her to him.

Once confident her appearance and demeanor was once again professional, Beckett spun around and slowly made her way towards the solemn looking man, who was still leaning against the far wall, staring down at his shoes. Her high-heels clicked a staccato beat on the tile floor, echoing down the now empty and quiet hallway.

"Personal ones are tough," she said as she approached, an attempt to commiserate. Her eyes narrowed as she took him in, realization striking. "No call?"

Colin Hunt glanced up, his blue eyes surprised. "What's my tell?" he asked, his lips twitching up for a few seconds before falling.

Beckett reached where he stood against the wall, and stopped, cocking her head slightly as she appraised him: The set of his brow, the downward curve of his mouth, the way his shoulders drooped. His very demeanor was quite telling.

"The brooding lean," she stated with a small, sympathetic smile, understanding.

"Ah, yes," he bobbed his head. "Rookie move."

They stood in a comfortable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Beckett remembering the time, not that long ago, when she would fall down the rabbit hole of her own grief and obsession. She recognized some of that in the set of his features and the look in his eyes. She'd been there. And it had almost killed her. If it hadn't been for Castle bulldozing his way into her life, she would probably be in a much darker place, somewhere she might not even have been able to come back from.

"You know, even with a mouth full of braces, she was the prettiest girl in her class," Hunt said, breaking the silence. Beckett understood, the need to talk it out. She stood there, silently listening. That's the best she could offer him right now. "Although having a cop for a dad didn't do much for her social life. Terry used to interrogate her dates when they dropped her off."

A smile touched her lips, recalling her father doing the same thing with her dates during her teenager years. "I could see how that would weed out the lightweights."

Hunt mirrored her smile, nodding. "And when she was 22, she fell in love with a young doctor," he went on, meeting her eyes. "Good guy. He died, last year, in Africa, doing God's work. I don't think she ever really got over it, because hearing what she was up to… it's like she was a different person."

Beckett mulled over that statement for a second until she could form a response. "People change when you're not looking," she said, thinking of her own experiences. Her cellphone buzzed at that moment. "Excuse me." Retrieving the device from her pocket, she checked the caller ID before answering. "Hey Ryan, what's up?"

"_I think I've found the locker that the key went to_," her colleague said.

"Are you sure?" she asked, eyebrows knitting together.

"_Absolutely, yes_," was his answer.

"Where?"

Ryan gave her the address.

"Okay, great," Beckett said. "Call in a warrant. We'll meet you there." She hung up, feeling that thrill of a lead swell through her. Eyes bright, she turned back to Hunt. "Ryan's found a gym near the hotel. Naomi bought a day pass there the night she was killed, and the clerk said she was in and out in three minutes."

Hunt straightened, his lips curving upwards, mirroring her excitement. He locked eyes with her, the sadness and loss evaporating from his face. "Just enough time to run in and hide something in one of their lockers."

She nodded. "Let's go."

XXX

"You can't tell her," Danberg insisted in a low, harsh whisper, grabbing his arm and preventing him from opening his flip phone.

Danberg glanced over at the command post where Jackson Hunt was issuing order to two other field agents who had just arrived in the operations center. The low buzz of activity—clattering keys, hushed voices from techs and analysts working at their computer stations—was barely enough to conceal their private conversation. He didn't want to draw any attention to them.

Castle stared at his friend in disbelief, a little angry and utterly baffled. "Then why the hell did you tell me all that?" he hissed, teeth clenched, though just as mindful as his friend over the fact other people within the operations center might overheard them if he raised his voice.

"Because, after all we've been through, I thought you had the right to know," Danberg explained. He released his grip on Castle's arm, holding up his hands in a show of peace. "I didn't have to deliver this news in person. I could have texted you."

"Bullshit," Castle said, calling him on it. "There's more you're leaving out."

Danberg met his steely gaze with a firm, uncompromising stare. "There's always more, you know that."

"And what? It's _need to know_?"

"It's bigger than that," Danberg insisted, keeping his voice low. His eyes darted up again towards the command post, before returning to Castle. "I can't find anything on this guy."

Castle blinked.

"Yeah," Danberg said with a nod. "You think I wouldn't have run a search on him the moment I recognized the photo attached to the BOLO? I had Riley run a deep dive on him, but nothing popped. No name. No aliases. No information at all. Nothing. No one is that clean, Castle. No one. Not even you."

Shaking his head, Castle scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the scrape of stubble beneath his fingers. His eyes narrowed as he thought. "You think his data was erased."

"Obviously," Danberg concurred. "But I've never seen something this thorough. I'm surprised the German police still even had digital copies of the witness statements and facial composite on file. That alone was the only thing that matched when Riley ran his search. The only thing." He paused for a bit, letting that information sink in.

"He could be a spook, like us, for MI6 or another agency," Castle suggested.

Danberg shook his head, dismissing both ideas. "I thought of that," he insisted, lowering his voice. "Since there's hardly anything at all of him in the system, I'm thinking he might be an operative for the Consortium. Or at the very least, an asset."

"Must be a valuable asset if they wiped out all information on him," Castle added, flicking his eyes up to meet Danberg's gaze. He frowned. "If he's so dangerous, why can't I call Kate?"

Danberg took a deep breath. "She's being watched, Castle," he stated. "We both know it," he quickly added before Castle could say anything in response. "We've both known that for a long time now."

"Bracken?"

"We know he had contacts beyond Kilmer," he confirmed.

"Wait, you don't think Bracken sent this guy?" Castle asked, growing concerned for Beckett's safety.

Danberg shook his head in the negative. "I didn't say that, Castle. Don't put words in my mouth," he said, a mild reproach in his voice. "Unless you think Bracken is part of the Consortium?"

"In some form or another, I wouldn't be surprised," Castle conceded. "If not, then he must have connections that gave him access to someone like Kilmer. A broker, perhaps."

"True. I suppose it's possible. We know so little about the Consortium and how the organization is structured beyond its leadership. But you have a deal in place," he reminded him, giving Castle a long hard stare, another reminder of what Danberg had risked making that deal possible.

Castle relented with a nod.

"From our profile on Bracken, I highly doubt he'd make a move if he believed you had incriminating information on him," Danberg added, hoping to put his mind at ease, but that was a tall order. Castle would always be worried about Kate and her safety. As long as Bracken was free, she was never truly safe.

"That's the thing," Castle said, rubbing the back of his neck, disquieted. "I was bluffing. You know it. I know it. Question is, how good was my poker face?"

"If he didn't buy it, then he wouldn't have agreed to the deal," Danberg reasoned.

"I suppose, but he could have been bluffing as well, buying himself more time to strike," Castle put forth.

"Then at the very least, you've offered each other mutual assured destruction."

Castle let out a half chuckle. "Now there's a happy thought."

They stood in companionable silence for a while, until the other agent spoke up.

"The reason I brought all this to you wasn't to worry you," Danberg said after a pause. "It's personal, which was why I chose to tell you face to face, keep it off the record. And to be honest, all we have are suspicions. I don't even know if this guy was involved in Ana's death. All the witness statements just have him in the vicinity around the time. At best, he was a person of interest. He could even be one of us, as you suggested. We have our info scrubbed."

"Yeah, we do," Castle agreed. "But, like you said, even I'm not that clean. Something always pops up."

Danberg's brow wrinkled as he remembered that. "Right," he mumbled. "Look, Rick… I just wanted your opinion on how I should play this."

Castle narrowed his eyes in thought, but he was interrupted before he could voice his opinion.

"Castle!"

They both jerked, glancing up like guilty schoolboys as Jackson Hunt marched towards them. The imposing man wore a disapproving frown.

"Sir?"

"You missed the briefing with Hoyt and Preston," he stated in a tone that added to the evidence that he was displeased. He paused, glaring hard at Castle until he turned, after noticing Castle was not alone. "Agent Danberg, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in New York, supervising the preparation for a vital joint operation with the Justice Department and the NYPD."

"I… um," Danberg fumbled.

If it wasn't for the sobering nature of his visit, Castle would have found his friend's discomfort amusing. He hardly ever saw Danberg this rattled. But then again, a legend like Jackson Hunt could knock anyone off-balance. Hunt narrowed his eyes, spying the printouts on the table.

"Does any of this have to do with Operation Mongoose?" he questioned, lifting one of the sketches up to scrutinize the drawing of the mysterious man's face. "I should have been notified immediately."

"No, sir," Danberg said, taking the printout from him and quickly placing all the pages back in the manila envelope. "Just another case I'm working on. I needed Agent Castle's input."

The older man eyed Danberg skeptically. Castle pursed his lips, watching the exchange, wondering if it was even possible to fool the great Jackson Hunt.

"It better have been important," Hunt said, low and menacing. His brow set in a perpetual frown of disapproval. "Now, you've wasted enough of our time. I'm sure you're needed back in New York."

"Sir," Danberg bowed his head and collected his things. He exchanged a look of farewell with Castle before making his escape.

"Oh, and Agent Danberg," Hunt called after him. "Director York will be hearing of this." The CIA legend turned back to Castle, glancing at him appraisingly. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

"It was personal, sir," Castle decided to tell the truth, at least partially.

Hunt harrumphed. "Off books, more like it. Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with any ongoing operations." He gestured for Castle to follow him. "I'm sending you to London with Hoyt, Preston, and Mr. Singh. ADD Kovaks has a meeting with his British Intelligence counterpart tomorrow afternoon. I want you four there to watch him. Surveillance has been approved by Director Reynolds's office."

Castle nodded, temporarily pushing his worry for his girlfriend to the backburner as he listened to Hunt's rundown of the London operation. Danberg's information had been unsettling, and he didn't like it, but he couldn't be in two places at once. Besides, his girlfriend was pretty badass. She could take care of herself. But, just in case, Castle knew he could trust his friend to watch her back.

XXX

They found a photograph in the locker at the gym. Thankfully the manager didn't argue with them on the need for a warrant. Beckett went in first, informing the female patrons that they needed to clear the locker room for a brief time, before she brought Ryan and Hunt in. The locker was empty save for the photo. On the back was a series of numbers. It appeared Naomi had left behind a picture of the man who'd killed her and another clue.

Back at the Twelfth Precinct, Beckett handed the photo off to the technology department with instructions to contact her once they cracked the code on the back. The numbered sequence didn't match anything in the NYPD's database, so they were going to have to request access to some Federal databases to get any headway. Beckett was sorely tempted to call Castle and ask for his help in deciphering it. But she held off, knowing he was busy, working on another important task, one that was both impactful and personal to her.

She understood the significance of finding that psycho killer, not just for her, but for the nation at large. Kilmer had assassinated the Vice President of the United States, which made him the country's number one most wanted man. And Kilmer's capture was also vital in her hopes in bringing Senator William Bracken to justice for the death of her mother, Johanna Beckett.

So, Beckett resisted the urge to call her CIA boyfriend to help them crack this case. Besides, she reminded herself as she stared at her face in the bathroom mirror, she had managed to investigate murder cases and solve them long before ever meeting Rick Castle. She leaned back, and played with her hair, tying it up into a loose, yet elegant bun. After applying some lip gloss and a touch of mascara, Beckett glanced once more at her reflection, as satisfied as she could be.

When she stepped out of the bathroom and started down the hall, she caught the faint sounds of conversation coming from the bullpen. Beckett paused, remaining in the the shadows that bloomed in the early evening, casting the bullpen in a dim light. The overhead florescent lights buzzed, illuminating patches of the floor. Ryan and Esposito were standing by the whiteboard. The pair were discussing the latest developments in the case.

Eventually, after a solid hour of staring at the photo, Ryan—the king of all things media—had recognized the shape of a plaque in the background. It was blurry, but he was able to make out that it was the British Seal, and made the next logical step, guessing—correctly—that the picture had been taken outside the British Consulate. Beckett and Hunt had then pulled up a list of the Consulate employees on their official website. They scrolled down an array of faces until they landed on Nigel Wyndham, Deputy general of the British Consulate. Hunt informed them that that meant he was just under the Consulate General in rank, so he was responsible for daily operations in financial and logistical matters.

After making a call to one of his Scotland Yard colleagues, Hunt learned some intriguing details on Mr. Nigel Wyndham. The man had a girlfriend during university who died rather mysteriously while they had been on holiday in Rome. He hadn't been charged. After that he had a string of bad investments until he married Cynthia Woodlow. It had been her prominent family connections that pulled the strings and got him a position, first at the Ministry of Culture and then at the British Consulate.

While Beckett and Hunt had been gathering information on Wyndham, Esposito had been reconstructing Naomi's movements since she landed in New York. Her credit card records indicated she booked a car service the previous week to drop her off at Nobu. Beckett had been to the very same Japanese restaurant once, and she remembered sharing a bottle of hot sake and an order of assorted sushi with Castle. It had been one of the few occasions they had been able to go on a proper date for the first time since that first fake date, where Castle had pretended to be a tax auditor named Andrew Miller.

Esposito showed Wyndham's and Naomi's picture to the restaurant's hostess, who had then confirmed that both had met there for dinner. The hostess remembered because Wyndham had dropped her a little extra to put them in a romantic table in the back. This lent credence to Esposito's theory that Naomi was having a tryst with Nigel Wyndham that had gone bad, possibly when she wanted more, which led Wyndham to realize the affair had become a threat to his position, to his reputation, and to the life he'd built on the backs of his wife and her family.

Detective Inspector Colin Hunt disagreed with the theory, not believing for one second that Naomi would fall for someone like Wyndham. And unfortunately, before they could start speculating any further, Captain Gates informed them that Nigel Wyndham's position at the Consulate included diplomatic immunity. However, Beckett had then reminded everyone that such protection would be waived if he were a suspect in a murder case.

The problem that faced them was finding the evidence to back up their suspicions.

And that was what presently had Ryan and Esposito so absorbed in the whiteboard. Beckett could see that her colleagues had spun it around to the reverse side, and that they were marking up ideas on how to legally obtain Wyndham's fingerprints.

"Here's the problem, bro," Esposito said, picking up the dry eraser and wiping away Ryan's latest suggestion. "Foreign dignitaries don't register their fingerprints with local law enforcement." He put the eraser down in the tray and stepped back to perch on the edge of his desk, offering his partner an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, bro."

Ryan grumbled and shook his head. "And if we put in a request to the Consulate they'll just box us out and alert Nigel that he's a suspect," he added.

"Yeah," Esposito agreed. "I thought Scotland Yard would be able to get them."

"Me too," Ryan nodded. "Even with his connections across the pond, Hunt struck out."

Colin Hunt strolled in from the opposite side of the bullpen, looking very dapper in a tux. "Excuse me, gents," he interjected. "Has anyone seen Detective Beckett?"

Taking that as her cue, Beckett stepped out of the shadows. All eyes darted in her direction. She had just finished glamming herself up with a light coating of makeup to compliment the long form-fitting black dress she now wore. Her cheeks warmed in reaction to the way Colin Hunt gazed at her, unashamedly letting his eyes roam appreciatively over her figure. Beckett was entirely unprepared for the flood of heat that assaulted her insides at having an attractive man that wasn't her boyfriend so openly ogle her. It didn't help that she had seen everything hidden underneath that tuxedo, and knew that the man had every reason to be proud. It felt like a betrayal to find his rapt attention so pleasing. Yet she couldn't stop her body from reacting the way it did. Beckett bit her lower lip as she approached the group, trying to suppress the unwelcomed butterflies in her stomach.

"Wow," Ryan was the first to speak, a gobsmacked expression plastered all over his youthful face. His brow wrinkled as he glanced between her and Hunt. "Uh… you guys going out?"

She understood his confusion. But before she could inform her colleagues that appearances were deceiving, Hunt was providing an answer himself.

"I pulled some strings and got us into a party at the British Consulate tonight," the Brit explained, stepping around Esposito's desk to meet her by hers.

"Nigel will be there," she informed the boys, keeping her voice cool and professional. She didn't want them reading more into this than there was. Because there was nothing else. This wasn't a date, or anything of that nature. This was all about the case. "We'll get his prints and he won't even know it."

Hunt nodded, and looked over at her, winking. She frowned. He held out his arm, and Beckett stared at it for a long beat, momentarily surprised. She hesitated a second or two before taking it, looping her arm through his. Hunt turned and grinned back at the boys.

"Cheers, lads."

And then he was leading her towards the elevator. She allowed it, going with him, her arm hooked around his. She wished Castle was there, then she could have looked towards him for support, or better yet, he could have used his own connections to get them into the party. Even though she liked Colin Hunt, strictly on a professional level, Beckett would have much rather done this with her boyfriend the spy.

Her insides continued doing that strange tug of war as they walked across the bullpen. She didn't like it. Her body was betraying her. She was in love with Castle, wanted only him, yet no matter what she told herself, Beckett couldn't deny Hunt was nice to look at, and clearly found her the same. She was just lonely, she told herself, missing her boyfriend. That's all this was. A passing thing. She certainly wouldn't act on it.

However, a voice in her head that sounded annoyingly like Lanie's told her to just relax and cut loose, have some fun, even if she was technically working a case. Beckett refused to succumb to such base desires. Humans were creatures of reason and had evolved above such things. She wouldn't let the way her body reacted to the hunky Brit's close proximity to rule her. There was only one man who could really excite the truly wild, burning need inside her, and that wasn't this man.

Much to her relief, by the time they stepped into the elevator, Beckett had managed to stifle most of it and regain her calm control.

"Nervous?" Hunt asked, glancing at her with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"No," she asserted with a snort. "I'll have you know, I'm pretty good at undercover work. Before I was in Homicide, I worked Vice."

"Oh," he appraised her with curious eyes, the glazed look all too familiar to her. "You must have some stories then… do tell."

Despite herself, Beckett couldn't hold back the saucy grin. She hated herself for it, but it was unpreventable, just an instant response that came all too naturally. She flicked her eyes up at him, and offered a shrug, figuring it didn't hurt to be friendly. "Maybe later."

XXX

He moved his hands under the soothing cool water, feeling the instant relief. It had been harder work breaking the man than he had been expecting, but eventually the fool had surrendered to the torture. In the end, they always broke. He had the codes now. Everything he needed to enact part of his revenge. Just one thing was left. His cellphone buzzed inside his pocket, and he pulled his hands back from the water, retrieving a towel to dry them.

Digging his phone out, he glanced at the message on the screen. A tight smile worked its way across his face. Good. Confirmation had finally arrived. The mission had been approved and authorized by the Chairman himself. Half of the payment had been delivered. The other half upon completion of the assignment. His smile widened. They played right into his hands. All too easy.

Kilmer exited the washroom and snapped his fingers, waving one of his men over.

"The plan is a go," he said. "Have the helicopter prepared."

"Not the plane?"

"No," Kilmer shook his head, and started down the hall. "We're saving that for later. The helicopter will do."

"Where are we going?" the man asked, trailing behind him.

Kilmer grinned, a wicked delight flashing in his eyes at the prospect of his goal soon reaching its completion. "London."


	7. Chapter 6

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 6**_

* * *

The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived. Despite her earlier boast, Beckett was a bundle of nerves. This was a big risk, and it had to pay off. Since they were inside the British Consulate, technically they were on foreign soil, meaning she had no jurisdiction. However, Detective Inspector Colin Hunt was Scotland Yard, so that may help if they got into a bind. She watched as he accepted two glass flutes of champagne from a passing server. He handed one to her with a grin.

"Thank you," she mumbled, taking a tentative sip, before accepting his proffered arm, again hooking her hand through his elbow. "So, how is Sir Alfred Heath?"

"Tonight, I am," Hunt said, still grinning, a little too confident in her opinion. Beckett thought it was more prudent to remain cautious. "The lads back home said the real Sir Alfred is down as a no-show. Gout or some damned thing."

"Okay," Beckett nodded as Hunt led them into the reception hall, where most of the attendees were gathered. "But what if Nigel Wyndham doesn't show, either?"

"Oh, he'll be here," Hunt asserted without any doubt. "And I expect he'll skip the champagne and drink something posh and pretentious, and leave his print on the glass." He took a sip of his own champagne at that point, pursing and licking his lips. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the room.

"What if he doesn't drink?" Beckett asked, knowing it was possible.

An amused smile cracked its way onto his face as he cocked his head toward her. "He's British," he said as if that was all the proof that was required. "Trust me, he drinks."

Beckett glanced around the room, noting all the people in fine dress and black-ties. It was an elegant affair, and she felt like an imposter standing there amongst them. She wasn't used to this kind of elite gathering. Hunt, however, seemed at ease, like he was home. The string band, tucked in the corner of the room, started to play. Hunt snatched the champagne flute from her hand and placed it, along with his, on the tray of a passing server. He took her hand, and flashed her a wink, before tugging her out into the dance floor.

"May I?"

A little caught off guard by his direction, Beckett fumbled for a bit, not too long, before following his lead out into the middle of the press of people moving to the music. "I didn't realize that dancing was part of the plan," she mumbled under her breath, a little irritated at not being consulted. It was the sort of thing Castle would have done, except with him it would have been only mildly annoying.

"Oh… well," Hunt grinned, pleased with himself as he twirled her under his arm. "It offers the perfect vantage point."

"Huh."

He reeled her back in, pulling her into his embrace as they started to dance together, swaying to the gentle swell of strings. Beckett pressed her lips together, her brow marred by a slight frown. Her stomach twisted in knots and her insides sung at the close proximity of the gorgeous specimen of masculinity. His arms were strong, his chest was solid muscle, and his cologne was intoxicating her olfactory senses. Her cheeks warmed, and she ducked her head, feeling uncomfortable with the way her body was reacting to the situation… and to the wrong man.

"Do you come to a lot of these events?" she asked, attempting to focus on something other than the masculine virility of her dancing partner.

"No, thank God. Why?" he asked as he spun them about the floor, glancing around casually while somehow still maintaining eye contact with her.

She swallowed. "You just seem very… confident."

He smiled in a way that was no doubt meant to be a charming. "Ah, well, that's because my companion is the most beautiful woman in this room."

Beckett all but rolled her eyes at the tired line. "That's clearly the champagne talking," she said, not liking how his comment had actually made her heart skip a beat. At the same time, her chest clenched with longing. The duality of it was quite discombobulating.

She could very easily imagine her boyfriend using the same line, but from his lips it would have come out much more endearing and sincere. It didn't have the same effect coming from Hunt. From him, it was just another cliché pick up line. And if the circumstances of their meeting had been different, and there had been no one else in her life, she might have been more interested in Colin Hunt. But as it was, she was in love with Castle, and was committed to their relationship, even if they'd rarely spent that much time together in person for the last couple of months.

Not a minute went by where she didn't think about Rick Castle, or missed him. All of him. His touch, his laugh, the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn't looking, the rich timbre of his voice, how he held her when all she needed was to be held. He drove her absolutely crazy, yet in good way, challenging her, meeting her snark with a rapier quick wit that made her relish the next parry and verbal sparring. Their banter was like foreplay, and when he made love to her, he touched her very soul. And it was everything. He understood her like no other. And she loved him, with a burning desire that consumed her like a house on fire. Everything and anything else paled in comparison to that kind of love.

Blinking her eyes as she shook herself out of her reverie, Beckett glanced around at the men and women in elegant suits and fancy dresses, all laughing and enjoying themselves. The string band continued to play, keeping up a steady and easy rhythm. She flicked her eyes back to Hunt.

"I'm sure your just comfortable here," she said, returning to their conversation. "You're amongst your own people."

Hunt let out a light scoff, and shook his head. "These aren't my people," he grumbled. "My people are the ones carrying the trays. Yeah. I grew up in the East End. My mum cleaned flats, dad worked in a factory. They wanted something better, they just—couldn't quite get it."

"And then?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, intrigued.

"I was admitted to Eton on scholarship where I minored in blending in," he joked, grinning when she smiled at it. "What about you?" He swung her out and back in, perfectly timed to the music.

"I grew up in the city," she offered after a brief hesitation. "And went to college in California. Stanford, to be precise."

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Well, you could obviously do anything you put your mind to. Why be a cop?"

Now that was encroaching on personal information, too personal for someone she just met earlier that very day. It wasn't something she shared with that many, only those closest to her. "I guess," she hedged, trying to think of a way to answer without going into specifics, "it was just my calling."

"Ah," Hunt inclined his head in understanding. "A crusader. I know the type. It doesn't leave a lot of time for a personal life though, does it?" He spun her again, bringing her back close to his chest, winking.

Beckett cocked her head and eyed Hunt, feeling the need to clarify things based off the look he was giving her. She had been trying to ignore it all day, but since they'd met at the hotel, during the lulls in the case, Hunt had been not so subtly flirting with her. His banter ability wasn't as sharp as Castle's was, but her bond with the spy was a unique one. She clicked Castle on almost every level, beyond just their physical compatibility, which was considerable. And even if he was gone for long intervals, and she missed sharing a bed with him, Beckett unequivocally had no desire for a temporary companion while he was away. She needed to nip this in the bud before it got any further.

"This isn't a date, Hunt," she proclaimed calmly, maintaining eye contact so there would be little room left for doubt. "You know that, right? We're here for the case. Only the case. Nothing more." And, feeling she needed to make things very crystal clear, she added, "I have a boyfriend."

He cocked his head slightly, taking in her statement. A tiny smirk ghosted across his lips. "If I was your boyfriend, I wouldn't be letting you go out to fancy parties with handsome strangers," he waggled his eyebrows in an attempt at roguish charm. It fell flat. And with that, whatever charms the Brit had held over her finally broke. She almost sighed with relief at having total control over her body's reactions once again.

"He trusts me," Beckett declared, the indubitable truth. "And I trust him."

Hunt let out a soft hum. "Yes. Trust is key to a strong and healthy relationship," he concurred with a nod, still not fully taking the hint. His hand started to drift lower down her back.

"Exactly," she answered in a stern voice and a glare that finally got through to him. His hand halted its descent down her back and retreated back upwards.

He offered her a sheepish expression when she stopped dancing.

"Sorry, I guess I misread some—"

"Shh," she hissed, narrowing her eyes as she stared over his shoulder. Beckett repositioned herself in his arms and resumed the dance. Though befuddled by the change, he followed her lead. She subtly tilted her chin to the left. "Look over there, by the bar."

He twirled her about as they swung around the floor until he was better positioned to artfully glance towards the aforementioned bar. Nigel Wyndham had arrived and was speaking with another guest. After a minute, he smiled widely and handed the other man a business card from his cardholder before turning to accept his drink.

Hunt grinned, flashing her an excited look. "Let the games begin."

XXX

The cabin interior of the gulfstream jet was mostly quiet, saved the ever-present hum of the engines. Barely two hours after receiving orders, it was wheels up and off to London. He was used to the quick pace of things. Life always on the move. It was something that never changed in this line of work. But, after what brief time he had been able to spend with Kate Beckett, Agent Rick Castle was starting to envy those in the slow lane, who got to enjoy the little moments life had to offer.

Hoyt and Preston were sitting in the forward seats, sleeping. Like him, traveling on short notice and at odd hours was old hat for them. The fourth member of their team was sitting across from him, hunched over as he typed away on his laptop. The soft click-clack of the keyboard blended seamlessly in with the other white noise while aboard an airplane. Castle leaned against the back of his seat and cocked his head to the side, watching the younger man. Vikram Singh was a nervous fellow. He obviously wasn't used to fieldwork. He was an office drone, and being sent out of the operations center had taken him out of his comfort zone.

"How you doing?" Castle questioned, breaking the silence.

"Huh?" Vikram jerked his head up. "Fine. Fine. I guess. I don't know. Why? God, was that the wrong answer. I don't know. What should I say?"

"Easy there," Castle held up a hand, an amused smile touching his lips "Just relax. Take a deep breath."

Vikram did as instructed, but the nervous tick still remained. "I'm… not ready for this," he insisted, shaking his head. "Why'd he pick me? There are others far more qualified in fieldwork. I'm just an analyst. That's where I'm good. He knows that, right? Right?" He shook his head, frantic. "He made a mistake. That's gotta be it. Yes. He made a mistake."

Squinting across the cabin, Castle appraised the computer tech. "Jackson Hunt doesn't make mistakes," he said in a calm voice. "If he put you on the team, there has to be a reason for it."

After a long pause, Vikram relented with a slight nod. "I suppose so," he said. He pursed his lips and glanced down at the laptop, the glow reflecting back from his dark brown eyes.

Castle lost him for a moment as he once again became absorbed with whatever was on the screen. Snapping his fingers, he regained the tech's attention. He figured from the disquieted look in the man's eyes that he could use a distraction, and perhaps a bit of a pep talk, which Castle felt himself capable of providing. He had always prided himself on being able to see the bright side of things.

He was a natural optimist.

Even in these troubled times, and with guilt and worry weighing him down, he couldn't help but hope that better times were on the horizon. It made him an oddity in his chosen profession. Most of his colleagues either became jaded and distant, disinterested, or like Kilmer, they snapped and had to be put out to pasture, to put it more politely. Most, however, were usually killed in action long before that even became necessary. Thankfully, Castle had been the exception thus far, and he planned on keeping it that way. Being with Kate Beckett helped a lot with that, but at the moment, he wasn't entirely sure if he could depend on that support, considering how she might react to what he'd done without her knowledge or counsel.  
"Why did you join the Agency?" Castle asked, focusing on the younger man, pushing his own worries aside for the moment. It didn't help to dwell on things. He was also good at that. Besides, he could always pour his frustrations into his writing. A habit that stuck despite the fact some had discouraged it. Kate liked his writing. And, for some reason, that seemed all the inspiration and encouragement he needed to keep up at it when he had the time.

"I don't know," Vikram shrugged with an anxious chuckle. "I guess, the usual reasons, I wanted to help people, make the world a better place, serve my country. I know. I know. So cliché."

"No, that's all right," Castle assured. "Clichés are clichés for a reason."

"Oh. Um… okay. How about you?"

Castle paused, and shifted in his seat, leaning across the center aisle of the small cabin as if he was about to share a big secret. "It sounded like it would be fun."

Vikram let out a loud laugh, then caught himself, remembering their sleeping colleagues. He clapped a hand over his mouth and grinned, shaking his head. "No. Seriously?" he chuckled.

Shrugging his shoulders, Castle offered, "Seemed as good a reason as any other. I'd just been through a bad break-up, and my writing wasn't taking me anywhere. So yeah. I guess I just went with it. Seemed better than the alternative."

Adjusting his laptop, Vikram craned his neck to glance at him with a curious expression. "Is it true that Director York personally recruited you."

Castle grinned. "Guilty as charged."

"Wow," Vikram murmured with an amazed expression.

"Well, to be fair, he wasn't Director of the National Clandestine Services at the time," he added, trying to downplay it. The fact Samson York had personally recruited him always meant the world to Castle, but it wasn't really something he like to brag about. It was just what happened. Simple as that. Though, he could understand the awe in the younger man's eyes.

"Still, it must say something," Vikram insisted. "He must have seen something in you."

"Perhaps," Castle allowed with a shrug, recalling one of Kilmer's taunts last May that insinuated that Castle had only been recruited by the CIA because of his father. His brow furrowed as those doubts and misgivings temporarily resurfaced. Castle had never really given much thought to who his father was. He couldn't care less. At least that's what he told himself. The man had never been part of his life when he was growing up. Martha Rodgers was the only parent he required. And she'd done her best to provide a good life for him, and she had. He had no regrets or complaints about his childhood. Still, the questions lingered. He soon shook them off. No. He'd earned his spot within the Company on his own merits, not because of his lineage.

"Me… it was a college job fair," Vikram said, rolling his shoulders and leaning back in his chair. "Nothing major, just some generic recruitment officers being all cryptic. I didn't even know they were CIA until I got the job offer." He paused, turning to look out the small oval window by his seat. "Honestly, I'm surprised I actually got hired."

"The Company is always in need of tech geeks like you, Vikram," Castle teased with a smirk. "But you gotta be pretty special for them to take a look at you in the first place. So… stop doubting yourself. You earned your spot here, with the Agency, and the team. If Jackson Hunt believes in you. I believe in you."

"You really mean that?"

"Yeah," he decided after a nod. "Yeah. I do."

"Thank you, Agent Castle," Vikram smiled with more confidence. "That means a lot."

"No sweat," Castle waved off the gratitude. "And please, call me Rick. All my friends do."

"All right," the man practically beamed, and Castle knew his work was done.

"Now," he said, glancing up towards the front of the cabin. "I suggest we follow Hoyt and Preston, and get some rest. We're going to need it."  
Vikram bobbed his head, moving to shut down his laptop. "Yes, sir."

Castle smirked, and snuggled back into his seat. He tilted his head and glanced out the window. As always, with nothing else demanding his focus, his thoughts turned towards Katherine Houghton Beckett. He wondered what his lovely detective was doing at that exact moment, and if she, too, was thinking of him. He pictured her beautiful face, smiling at him, opening her arms for an embrace as she welcomed him back and forgave him. And with that pleasant thought on his mind, he closed his eyes, and dreamed.

XXX

They got the prints. It hadn't exactly gone as planned, especially when the real Sir Alfred Heath showed up at the party and the Consulate security sought out Hunt to question him. Beckett had to improvise. She kept her focus on their target and was able to lift Wyndham's card holder from his pocket, secreting it away in her bodice when making her escape from the dance floor. Castle would have been proud.

It had been fun, pretending to be some amorous woman named Jean Harrington, even if it churned her stomach letting Nigel Wyndham's hands wander as they danced. Still, she had accomplished the mission, and mostly on her own, since Detective Inspector Colin Hunt hadn't been of much help once security had him cornered in the other room.

Returning to the Twelfth Precinct, Beckett sealed the card holder in an evidence bag and handed it off to Esposito to take it to the lab for processing. Hopefully it wouldn't take them too long to get a report back, but forensic analysis could move notoriously slow. With that in mind, and considering the late hour, Beckett decided it wasn't worth waiting around for something that would most probably not be available for their review until the following day.

"I'm calling it a day," she declared from her desk, still wearing the form-fitting black dress. "We'll regroup tomorrow morning and see if anything pops."

Detectives Ryan and Esposito let out sighs of relief, and immediately started packing up to head home; Ryan to his wife, and Esposito to a recording of some sporting event and a six-pack of beer. Beckett was checking her phone for messages, hoping to find one from her boyfriend. However, her task was interrupted when Colin Hunt stepped over to her, frowning.

"There's nothing else we can do tonight, Detective Inspector Hunt," she said, noticing the quiet consternation marring his handsome features.

"Please, we're off duty," he waved off her apology, smiling slightly. "Call me Colin."

She hesitated for a moment, before deciding to stick with her plan of being polite and friendly with their British visitor. "Kate."

He offered her a soft smile, pleased, and took a moment to keep her gaze. Hunt shifted closer to her, hands in his pockets, an optimistic look on his face.

"Since there is nothing more we can do tonight, could I persuade you to let me buy you a drink, Kate?" he asked, laying on the charm, a suggestive twinkle in his eyes.

Beckett pursed her lips and gave him a baleful look. He was offering more than a drink, of that she had no doubt. She would admit that his interest had been flattering, but now, after she'd made it clear she was with someone, she no longer found it amusing. Still, she could remain courteous.

"Not tonight, sorry," she answered, affording a small smile.

Hunt nodded, as if he'd expected it. "Another time."

He bowed like a gentleman, accepting her polite refusal, and then ducked out, still looking dapper in his tuxedo. She had no doubt that if he desired company for the evening he could find it in any of the numerous bars or clubs opened late at night. New York City was famous for being the city that never slept, so it shouldn't be all that difficult for a man like Colin Hunt to find a willing companion.

Before she could leave, however, she got a text from Lanie, asking if she wanted to go out for some drinks. Beckett declined, stating she just wanted to get out of her dress.

_You go, girl. Let that hunky Brit peel it off and have some fun!_ Lanie texted back, adding a winking face emoji to the text, along with some other emojis that implied exactly what kind of 'fun' Lanie was suggesting.

Sighing, Beckett rolled her eyes, growing a bit exhausted with her best friend's badgering about having 'fun' while Castle was away. She simply texted back the word _NO_ in capital letters and then tucked her phone back into her bag, done with it.

Beckett headed back home, to the Gramercy Park apartment she shared with her absent boyfriend. After letting herself in, she kicked off her high-heels and went straight for the bedroom, where she stripped out of the long black dress, hanging it back up in the closet.

Standing there, in nothing but lacy panties, Beckett reached inside and pulled out one of Castle's collared shirts. She pulled it to her naked chest, and dropped her head down, holding the fabric up to her nose. Closing her eyes, Beckett breathed in deeply of his scent. Her chest clenched and her heart stuttered. She missed him dearly. His work with the CIA was important, just as her work was important to her. But it hurt coming home to an empty apartment.

A voice that sounded annoyingly like Lanie Parish eased its way into her mind, telling her she had been a fool to turn the hunky Brit down.

_Just look at yourself, please. Look. All tense and rigid. You're all bottled up. You need to cut loose, live a little, have some fun. Release all that tension. Drinks, dancing… maybe a little more._

_ Easy on the eyes. Cute accent, too._

_ Spy Boy's not here, girl. He could be anywhere, doing God knows what, with God knows who. Just… while he's not around, perhaps you should allow yourself to have some fun. And Mister Scotland Yard there is yummy. You should totally take him for a ride while you have—_

No. Beckett shook her head, hugging Castle's shirt tighter to her naked chest, once more breathing in the comforting and soothing scent of him that lingered on the fabric. Heaving in a handful more breaths, Beckett found a sense of calmness, and put the shirt back in the closet. Keeping her hair up, Beckett padded out of the bedroom and walked down the hallway towards the bathroom.

She felt dirty. Not just because of the insidious suggestions her best friend had made, but because she could still feel the grabby and wandering hands of Nigel Wyndham pawing at her as he blatantly groped and felt her up as they'd moved around on the dance floor at the British Consulate. It was also the way Colin Hunt had stared at her, so openly ogling her figure. It made her stomach churn with disgust at how she'd actually been flattered by the attention, even if she'd never acted on it.

Tugging off her panties and tossing them to the floor, Beckett slipped into the stall and braced herself beneath the shower head as she turned the knob, fully prepared for the sudden burst of cold water. She closed her eyes and stubbornly stood her ground against the assault until the water gradually warmed, and achieved the burning temperature she desired to wash herself clean of the long day. She spun around, letting the hot water cascade down her body. Taking the soap, she lathered it up and worked it into her skin, massaging her taut muscles.

Beckett closed her eyes as the hot steam enveloped her, and thought of him, her Castle. He was everything to her. She had never expected that, never anticipated wanting or needing someone as badly as she had with him, yet she did. His gorgeous face appeared in her mind, and his pierce blue eyes gazing at her with all the love and desire she felt for him. Reciprocated. Always. She licked her lips as she leaned against the tile wall, smoothing her hands down her body, a familiar warmth pooling in her center. She parted her legs and slipped her hand down, beneath, through, working herself up and over the edge, all the while thinking of him and him alone.

"Castle," she cried out when she breached the threshold, her body trembling with the force of it, yet still wanting, longing for his knowing touch.

The old saying said that absence made the heart grow fonder. And while that was true, to a certain extent, it also did wonders for the libido, making the fusing of body and soul all the more intense. It was something she could look forward to. Beckett sighed as she coaxed herself back down from the fall, basking in the afterglow as the hot water and steam relaxed her tense muscles. It wasn't the same as it was with Castle, but for now it was all she had.

XXX

It was late, past midnight, when she woke up to the buzz of the door chime. Blinking her eyes, she groaned in disapproval as she shoved the covers off and sat up in bed. Scrubbing a hand down her face, she groggily padded out of the bedroom and towards the front door of her apartment. The buzzer continued, unrelenting, and she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, all ready to give the intruder interrupting her beauty sleep a good scolding.

However, whatever reprimand that had been on the tip of her tongue died the moment she unlocked and swung the door open to reveal Colin Hunt, the _easy on the eyes, cute accent_ Detective Inspector from jolly old England. He was dressed in a tuxedo, looking so very fine. He was gorgeous, suave and debonair, like her own personal James Bond. He smiled at her, pleased she'd answered the door.

"Hello, love," he crooned, and she couldn't help the way her body swooned—literally _swooned_—at his sexy accent. God, it was too much.

But then a frown touched her brow. "How'd you find out where I lived?" she asked, thoroughly confused, as they really hadn't had a chance to talk too much, let alone about personal things like living situations.

He offered a nonchalant shrug, taking a step closer to her, nearly entering her apartment, already working the bowtie loose around his neck. The man had style, she'd grant him that. "Does it matter?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, so very charming.

She swallowed, and let her eyes milk in the gorgeous sight of masculinity standing in the doorway, staring back at her undisguised attraction. Her cheeks warmed at the heated look he sent her. His eyes roamed her frame, appreciating the sight of her bare legs. The night shirt she wore was only long enough to reach her mid-thighs. And all she had underneath was a pair of teal cotton panties. Her stomach flipped with carnal desire, and a familiar heat pooled low in her center. She bit her lower lip, and, ignoring the warning alarms blaring in her head, stepped back, nonverbally inviting him into her home.

"That's what I thought," Hunt grinned triumphantly, a bit cocksure, but it was in an attractive sort of way. He cupped her cheeks in his large hands and leaned down, slanting his mouth across hers in a hungry embrace.

She let out a whimpering moan of pleasure, resisting at first the yearning in her body to gravitate into him, knowing this was a mistake, completely insane. But the sensations that shot through her veins as he drew her into him were just too much for her to resist. He continued to kiss her like a thirsty man wandering the dry desert and she was a welcoming oasis. His large hand skimmed down her throat in an intoxicating way, sultry and sensual. He palmed her breast, squeezing, kneading expertly.

Her heart fluttered wildly beneath her ribs, and she knew—_she knew_—that she should stop him, stop _this_, but the feelings his touch created inside her were just so very good. She knew it was wrong. It was foolish. But it would be fun. Yes. Fun and uncomplicated. And that's what she needed, right? She needed to have fun. For her. It was tiresome to come home alone to an empty bed, empty sheets. Life was too short not to have fun. And she deserved fun.

He could have gone anywhere, chosen anyone. But he'd chosen her. And that thrilled her to no end, feeding into her own desire, building it higher and higher until the gates could barely keep it contained. And she needed this.

Surrendering to the burning need building inside her, she backed up, pulling him across the threshold, allowing him into her home. Stifling the lingering protests in her head, she just went for it. It felt so good to be touched again. Her body craved that intimate touch. The passion. The heat. The long day at work had left her so wound up that she desperately needed a release.

They spun around in the foyer, still locked together, hands roaming. She worked the buttons of his shirt open, trailing her fingers down his hard chest. His muscles were amazing. She could feel them ripple with raw power underneath her fingertips. She needed to get him naked, feel flesh against flesh. Her breath grew hot and heavy, and they pulled back to suck in that precious oxygen.

"Bedroom," she gasped, embracing the spontaneity of it, damn the consequences.

Colin Hunt smirked, and he kicked the front door shut with his foot. Grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket, she rammed her mouth back against his, and dragged him deeper into her apartment.


	8. Chapter 7

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 7**_

* * *

Kate Beckett stepped off the elevator as it arrived on the fourth floor of the Twelfth Precinct with a beaming smile spreading across her face. She had really needed last night, going a bit wild, even breaking into the box she kept hidden in the back of the closet, playing around late into the night, leaving her a bit tired this morning. But she had no regrets. Lanie had been right. She needed to cut loose on occasion, ignore the complicated mess that her life was at present, and just go for it, have some fun. For her. And she had. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the flush to her cheeks as she recalled some of the things she'd done the previous night, things she hadn't done in quite a while. It was unprofessional, so she had to lock it down before any of her colleagues saw her.

Sauntering into the bullpen, with an extra kick to the sway of her hips, Beckett noticed her best friend chatting with Roselyn Karpowski, no doubt discussing the autopsy of whatever case the other detective was currently working on. Beckett dumped her bag on her desk, and turned to glance at her own murder board, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at the photo of Nigel Wyndham. She hoped the forensic techs had found time during their busy overnight schedule to run the prints off the card holder she'd lifted off the sleazy British Consulate official.

Shaking her head, Beckett pirouetted around, and stretched across her desk to turn on her desktop unit. As the computer booted up, she couldn't stop herself from once more thinking about last night and how many times she'd orgasmed. It had to be a record. She tried to stifle the grin that wanted out, chewing on her lower lip, but was completely unsuccessful.

"Hey, girl, you look happy today," Lanie called out as she approached, having finished her debrief with Karpowski. Her friend gave her a knowing look. "Sleep well?"

"Very," Beckett declared. And it was the truth, despite how little actual sleep she'd had. She felt rested, rejuvenated after last night's fun. Glancing up from the login screen, she stopped when she noticed the glow radiating off the medical examiner. "Safe bet you had a good night, too."

"That I did," Lanie proclaimed with a cheeky grin, face flushed and excited. "Nothing like mind-blowing sex after midnight."

"Whoa there," she held up her hands, eyes wide with mortification. She appreciated sharing the occasional sex gossip as much as the next girl, but since Lanie was seeing one of her team members, she really didn't need that much information on her colleague. Lanie chuckled at her discomfort, and Beckett rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm glad you and Esposito seemed to have worked things out."

Lanie let out a harrumph. "That jackass!? No, girl, I was with that fine specimen of manhood who's been following you around," her friend asserted, licking her lips and winking. "You didn't tell me he was so… _impressive_."

Beckett blanched. "Lanie!"

"What?" Lanie cocked her head and shrugged. "You saw him. I know you looked when that towel dropped. Honestly, girl, I can't believe you skipped out on riding that stud. It was _amazing_."

Shaking her head, Beckett scrubbed a hand down her face. Sometimes she just didn't understand Lanie. Finding her composure, Beckett gave her an inquisitive look. "So it's really over between you and Espo?"

"Duh. He made it too serious," Lanie explained, brow furrowing as if she was baffled by the question. "You know me, Kate. I just wanted something fun and uncomplicated. And it was, for a while, but Javier started getting ideas that it was more than what it was, making it complicated. And that just wasn't fun." She paused, noticing Beckett's fretful expression. "Don't freak, sweetie. I'm not some doe-eyed girl just off the bus. I knew what I was doing. And that yummy Mr. Scotland Yard was just what I needed right now."

She leaned in close, dropping her voice conspiratorially.

"You should totally take him out for a spin," she suggested with a waggle of her eyebrows. "I'm willing to share. I have no claim on him. Don't want one. No strings. That's how I like it. Plenty of him to go around, too." She hummed. "Spy Boy's been out of town for months. It's a little sad and depressing, really. You need to get laid, girl. Badly. You're so tense. Yeah, see… you're giving me this blank look. Hmm. Yeah, Kate. You need it bad. And it's fine. All in good fun. We both know he's interested. I saw the way he was looking at you yesterday. Don't tell me you didn't notice. And I can confirm he's good… _very good_. Like damn, I'm getting flushed from the memories alone."

"Lanie," Beckett all but hissed, just wanting her incessant chattering to stop. This whole conversation was unbelievable. She rubbed at her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. "I'm in a relationship with Castle. Are you seriously suggesting that I cheat on him?"

"Cheat is such an ugly word," Lanie said with a frown, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. "Look, Kate. I know you love the guy. I do. And that's great. That's cool. But he's not here right now, is he? All I'm saying is you need to have some fun while you can. And since he's gone, why waste your time sitting at home alone when there's plenty of hot studs ready and willing."

Beckett let out an exasperated huff, half-tempted to tell her best friend about her activities from last night, as proof that she could still have fun when her boyfriend was away, while remaining faithful. She could tell her about how stupendously she'd got her jollies off last night with her box of toys, going a little wild, imagining Rick Castle fucking her brains out as she worked herself over the edge several times late into the night with her hands and an array of toys, but she held her tongue.

Only her boyfriend would be hearing about that.

And the knowledge that he'd listen with rapt attention, asking questions, wanting precise details, had made the experience all the more stimulating, propelling her into a record number of self-induced orgasms. And furthermore, Beckett had the satisfaction of knowing that she would then have the extraordinary pleasure of having the real Rick Castle with her as they reenacted it together… again, and again, and again.

Beckett slowly squinted her eyes as she assessed her friend. "Well, as tempting as all that sounds, I'll have to pass," she stated as she crossed her arms under her breasts, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Lanie glanced at her for a long beat, wearing a puzzled expression, utterly mystified at her reaction, before offering a shrug. "Your loss."

The elevator door chimed, saving Beckett from having to respond, and she arched her neck to glance over. Her brow wrinkled as she recognized a handful of the people that disembarked from the lift.

There was Agent Martin Danberg, Castle's CIA pal, who acknowledged her with a polite nod. And walking alongside him was Justice Department Agent Rachel McCord, her partner, Agent Hendricks, trailing behind her with a man she recalled as being a high-ranking captain from the NYPD's Narcotics Division. They marched with purpose through the bullpen. Captain Gates greeted them each in turn, and then ushered them towards a conference room, where Beckett noticed others were waiting. After they'd entered the room, Gates shut the door and drew the blinds shut.

Before she could even ponder what was going on, she caught sight of the tall form of Detective Inspector Colin Hunt emerging from the break room, carrying two cups of coffee. He walked into the bullpen with an almost smug swagger. Beckett held back a grimace, stifling the bile back down her throat, knowing, thanks to her overeager friend, why he wore that self-satisfied expression. He approached her desk with a cocky grin.

"Detective Beckett," Hunt inclined his head in greeting, proffering a cup of coffee. "Fine morning."

"Hmm, yeah," was her response, accepting the warm beverage, her gaze darting back and forth between the Brit and her best friend.

"Ah, Doctor," he bobbed his head in recognition, smiling broadly.

Lanie pursed her lips in a delighted smirk, her eyes alight with mischief as her gaze roamed the strong, powerful form of their British visitor. Beckett had to suppress a revolting shudder. "Detective Inspector," she answered with a nod and wink, before sauntering away, adding a bit more sway to her hips than was strictly necessary. Beckett gaped after her, stunned by her brazen behavior, while Hunt simply followed Lanie's departure with eyes that had seen way more than Beckett even wanted to know.

"Really!?" she said to him when they were alone.

He jerked his head back around to look at her, offering a smooth, relaxed grin, so confident in his charisma. "You made it clear you weren't interested," he raised his shoulders, as if that explained everything.

She clenched her jaw and glared at him. "If you hurt her—"

Hunt held up a hand to halt her impending threat. "Don't worry, Detective," he assured her. "We're both consenting adults. It was just some no strings attached fun. And we both knew that, so there's no need for a lecture. Though, I appreciate your loyalty. She's lucky to have you as a friend."

"I'd say," Beckett muttered under her breath.

"So," Hunt said, shifting to look at the whiteboard. "Anything new?"

Stunned for a moment at the ease with which he transitioned back to business, Beckett sputtered for a second before diving back into the case. "We're still waiting on the lab to get back with those fingerprints," she answered, carding her fingers through her hair, a little flustered with the whole situation. And her day had started off so well.

She lifted the cup of coffee to her mouth, but stopped before she could take a sip, remembering who had provided it, and that it had probably come from the ancient machine in the break room. Castle had ruined her when it came to coffee. The man just had the magic touch. Casting a glance towards Hunt, she not so subtly put the cup down, wanting him to see the rejection. He merely pursed his lips, making no comment.

"Yo, Beckett," Esposito called out as he appeared from the direction of the tech room. "I've got the lab report back on those prints."

She perked up, welcoming the return to the case. "And?"

He pursed his lips, looking apologetic. "Prints don't match."

"What?" she gaped, glancing over at Hunt, who appeared equally astonished. She thought they'd had their guy. It had to be Nigel Wyndham. The man was just too slimy not to be the killer.

Esposito shrugged as he handed Beckett the folder with the report. She opened it up, lifting the pages as she scanned through it. "CSU ran the fingerprints off the card case," he confirmed, "compared them to the print Lanie pulled off Naomi's body. It wasn't a match."

"No, that's not possible," Beckett shook her head. She shut the folder and handed it back to him. "Have them run it again."

Sighing, Esposito stared back at her with a defeated expression. "Ryan already did that three times," he said. "Sorry. Wyndham's not out killer."

Hunt paced before the whiteboard, clearly agitated. "He's behind this, I know it," he all but growled. "It's why Naomi left us his photograph."

While she really didn't like him on a personal level, Beckett was inclined to agree with him on that. "Well, maybe he hired somebody to do his dirty work for him," she supplied.

The the slimy limey nodded, latching on to the idea. "Like one of his security men."

"Can you get Scotland Yard to run background check on the security staff?" she inquired.

At this point, Captain Gates had emerged from the conference room and was looking out into the bullpen, her eyes landing on Beckett. "Detective, I need to see you. Now."

Beckett exchanged confused looks with Hunt and Esposito, before sidestepping the former to stride across the bullpen. Knitting her eyebrows together, she paused and spun back around.

"Check on those security staff," she ordered. "We may get lucky, get a hit, and one of them will roll over on Wyndham."

"Will do," Esposito nodded, then turned to Hunt, gesturing him to follow him to his desk. Beckett watched, hoping her colleague didn't find out about his ex-girlfriend and their visiting Brit.

"Detective Beckett. Conference room. Now!" came Gates's commanding voice.

Beckett sighed, watched as the two men got to work, and then pursed her lips, setting her features in a neutral expression as she turned around and stalked through the bullpen to where her commanding officer was waiting, an impatient look on her face. Beckett narrowed her eyes, nose wrinkling, when she recognized a balding man with glasses, dressed in an expensive suit, leaving the conference room with his retinue in toe. Beckett followed his path as he marched right by her, heading for the elevator.

Continuing on her route, Beckett raised her eyebrows as she approached her Captain. "Sir? Was that the Deputy Commissioner?"

Gates didn't say anything, just waved her to follow as she headed into the room the Deputy Commissioner had just vacated. Slightly confused, Beckett picked up the pace and followed her captain into the conference room, where she was greeted by a sight that appeared like the assembling of a task force.

XXX

Kilmer sat alone on a massive king-sized bed in an upscale hotel in London, waiting for the massage service he'd requested. They had some time to kill before the mission, and he felt like some pampering before the games begun. He smiled, thin and wicked. Oh, it was going to be fun. He had been preparing for this since his escape from New York. He hoped the Agency sent Castle to spy on their foolish ADD Dan Kovaks. That would only make it all the sweeter.

His phone chimed.

Looking at it, he grinned, delighted with the attached photo. He could use this.

Kilmer texted back, asking about the secondary objective.

_Negative_, came the reply. _She wouldn't bite_.

He let out a growl of rage filled disappointment. Kilmer didn't understand why the bitch cop hadn't taken the bait. The foolish Rick Castle had left her alone for months. She should have been lonely. Desperate for companionship. Grumbling, Kilmer admitted to himself that maybe he didn't really understand women all that well. He'd miscalculated that at least. Obviously the lady detective wasn't one to stray, which was disappointing. He'd have to rely on other methods to taunt his adversary.

His phone chimed again.

_Found another in_, came another text. _Rocked the world of the ME. She talks in her sleep. _

Kilmer narrowed his eyes in thought, and shrugged. It was something.

_Proceed as planned_, Kilmer messaged back. _Keep eyes open. Wyndham and the music producer need to be blamed._

_Don't worry_, came his asset's response. _Ground work has already been laid. The competition will be eliminated, one way or another_.

A knock came from the door of the suite, and the hotel service people called out. Kilmer's thumbs flew across his phone as he sent one more text.

_Proceed with Objective Theta, no further contact until I contact you. Confirm_.

He stood up off the bed, head bowed as he stared at the small cellphone screen, waiting for confirmation. The phone chimed a second or two later.

_Theta. Confirm._

Satisfied, Kilmer shut his phone off, and stashed it in his pocket. Relaxing his facial muscles, he put on a pleasant mask, and answered the door, ready for his massage.

XXX

"Detective Beckett," Gates began introductions, "Captain Dean Fowler, head of Narcotics." She indicated the man standing by the board that had crime scene photos tacked up all over it. He tossed down the folder he had be reviewing on the table and extended his hand. Beckett took it and shook, offering a small smile. "And," Gates continued. "I believe you know Agents Danberg, McCord, and Hendricks."

"Yes, sir, I do," Beckett inclined her head towards the agents, narrowing her eyes, knowing that the presence of both Danberg and McCord made things very interesting. Something big was going down if these two were involved, not to mention the fact the Deputy Commissioner had clearly been part of the meeting earlier.

"It's good to see you again, Detective," McCord greeted, keen eyes taking her in. "Especially without the dead weight."

"Huh?"

"She means Castle," Danberg explained, stifling an eye roll. "Agent McCord doesn't think very highly of him."  
"Oh, no, no," McCord objected, raising a hand as she turned to glance back at the CIA officer masquerading as a FBI agent. "I respect Mr. Castle for his service to our country, I do. I just don't think his judgment is very sound, especially when it comes to the detective."

Danberg let out a tired sigh, and Beckett had a feeling this was a reoccurring argument between the two. She pursed her lips, trying to repress the amusement she saw in it. She would disagree, of course, on principle. Castle was one of the best partners, both personally and professionally, she'd ever had. There was no one else she'd trust more to have her back. And, despite the eccentricities in his unique and robust personality, he was a damn fine agent.

Gates cleared her throat, restless. "Yes, yes, this is all very… interesting, but can we get to the matter at hand, please?"

"Yes," Captain Fowler concurred, stepping back around the conference table to stand before the board. "The clock is ticking, and we don't have much time for idle chitchat."

McCord smirked, but inclined her head. Hendricks remained quiet, standing with his hands clasped in front of him. Beckett looked towards Danberg, who offered her a reassuring nod. She shifted her feet, relaxed, and waited.

"Detective," McCord began, speaking more formerly now. "What we are about to tell you cannot leave this room."

"Yes, understood," Beckett nodded, having already surmised just that, judging by the people present.

The Justice Department agent cocked her head towards Fowler. "Captain?"

He took over, gesturing towards the board, where Beckett saw an array of photos from multiple crime scenes. "These six victims had their throats cut," Fowler informed her. "They were mid to upper level drug dealers. Two were teenagers. They were all murdered in the past few months when a new drug ring muscled in and took over most of the uptown heroin and cocaine trade."

"A new drug ring?" Beckett said, brow furrowing, puzzled as why this should involve her, unless Narcotics needed someone from Homicide to corroborate their findings. But somehow Beckett thought it was bigger than that. So, she asked the question that was expected of her. "Well, who are they?"

"We don't know," Fowler admitted with a shrug, looking frustrated. "I was tasked with finding that out and shutting them down. But they're invisible, these guys. They don't use banks, so we can't follow the money. They make sure their street dealers never meet their suppliers."

Beckett nodded, understanding. "So when you bust a dealer, he doesn't know who he's working for."

"Exactly," Fowler smiled, pleased she grasped the situation. "So, three months in and we have nothing. We don't even have any of their names. Except for Lazarus."

There was a pregnant pause. Beckett looked towards Danberg and McCord, searching for any clues she could gleam from their expressions, but both agents were hard to read. She knew Danberg better, though, and could tell that this was what interested him most. Not the murders or the drug ring, but this mysterious individual going by the name Lazarus. Interesting.

"And who is Lazarus?" she inquired, narrowing her eyes, growing suspicious as she turned her attention back to Captain Fowler.

"That's where we come in," McCord stepped forward. "Now, Detective, I'll like to remind you that all this is confidential, and should not be shared with anyone… I repeat _anyone_."

Beckett squinted, not liking what the Federal agent was implying. "I got that," she stated, standing her ground.

"Right," McCord acknowledged, eyeing her for a long moment, a slightly dubious look passing over her features. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, McCord continued with the briefing. "We believe Lazarus is their leader. Not his real name, of course. It's a codename for a player in a larger organization, one that AG's office has been investigating for a while, with little forward movement. Then yesterday, a phone intercept led us to this woman."

McCord signaled Hendricks, who finally moved from his stationary spot off to the side, lifting a remote and turning on the flat screen TV mounted behind the head of the conference room table. It flashed on, showing what appeared to be video footage from an interrogation of a young woman.

On the screen, Agent Hendricks paced behind the woman, as Agent McCord sat across from her, asking questions. Hendricks paused the video playback when it switched to a close-up of the woman's face: Brown eyes, high-cheek bones, long brown hair. There was definitely a strong resemblance. Beckett started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as McCord resumed her briefing.

"Elena Markov," McCord said. "She copped to being a low-level drug courier in their ring. Born in Russia, she came here as a mail order bride, divorced her husband. She learned to speak English better than most Americans, and was getting by as a freelance translator. She'd never been in trouble before. At least, until now." She turned to Hendricks and inclined her head. He pressed play and raised the volume.

"_I needed work and I heard about a way to make money_," Elena Markov's voice filtered through the speakers as the video played out the interview. There was no trace of an accent. And she looked anxious, afraid. "_All I had to do was call a number, so I did. Once I got in I couldn't get out_."

"_Who was your contact in the ring?_" Video McCord asked.

"_I didn't have one_," Elena asserted, visibly shaking. "_I would get a text with a time and place, and I'd get a package with a note hidden inside that would tell me where to take it._"

On the screen, Agent McCord leaned forward. "_Did you ever see anyone? Did you ever interact with anyone?_"

"_No_," Elena interjected. Yeah. She was definitely scared. "_Everything was anonymous. I don't know them. They don't know me. It needs to stay that way. Look, I… I just want to get my life back_."

Hendricks paused the video playback there. Beckett raised her eyebrows and turned to look at McCord.

"It looked like another dead end," the agent admitted with a slight roll of her shoulders. "Then late last night, Elena got another text from the ring. This time they wanted to meet her to offer her a promotion."

"Which would give you guys a chance to get eyes on the inside," Beckett easily deduced.

Fowler snapped his fingers. "Exactly, Detective. It's the break we've been waiting for."

McCord stepped over to the screen, staring hard at the image of Elena Markov. She spun back around to face Beckett. "We leveraged Elena to take the meet. But… she tried to commit suicide."

"She's in intensive care under police guard," Gates added, sharing a look with Captain Fowler and pointedly glaring at Agent McCord. Beckett got the feeling that her captain didn't approve of the pressure put upon the poor woman by their Federal colleagues.

"Agent McCord," Beckett spoke up, shifting her feet and meeting the other woman's resolute gaze. "I'm sorry to hear about that, but what does this all have to do with me?"

McCord exchanged a look with Fowler, who nodded. "The meeting is set for 5 PM today. And a chance like this is not going to come back around," she explained. "The FBI and Justice Department, along with most Federal agencies are stretched thin right now, pursuing the Vice President's assassin, as such, I don't have many active agents to work this case. Understandably, considering events, this case is considered low priority."

"I still don't understand, Captain?" Beckett frowned, turning to her commanding officer, hoping for clarification. "How does any of this involve me?" Even as she asked it, she suspected the reason. She just didn't want to believe it.

Gates opened her mouth to answer, but stopped, shifting uneasily and deferring to Captain Fowler of Narcotics.

"We combed the NYPD database for someone about Elena's age and appearance," Fowler elaborated. "Who also speaks fluent Russian, in case that's relevant." He paused for effect. "Only one name came up. Yours."

Beckett raised her eyebrows as her suspicions were confirmed. She glanced around the room, stopping on Agent McCord, shooting her an incredulous glare. "You want me to go in her place?"

McCord nodded. "To the Roosevelt. Show up, meet the contact, and leave. In and out." As if it would be that simple?

Shaking her head, Beckett glanced to Danberg, who had remained silent during the whole run down. He sighed and looked apologetic. Other questions were running through her mind, but it was too difficult to actually think about them while she was still sorting out everything she'd just been told.

"I'm not happy about it, either," Gates assured her, glaring daggers at McCord. "But we don't have any other option."

"Sir, I'm right in the middle of a case," she gestured back towards the bullpen. She felt sorry for Elena, she really did; the poor woman was in a tough spot. But, Beckett had other responsibilities, she couldn't just abandon them.

"Detective Esposito can take point," Gates said, and held up a hand to forestall any more objections. "Your team will be fine without you for a while, Detective. Our visitor from Scotland Yard can pick up the slack."

Beckett wanted to say more, but held her tongue once she saw the stern expression on her captain's face. So, she offered a hesitant nod. Knitting her eyebrows together in thought, she spun back around to McCord and Captain Fowler, who were huddled in a conversation in front of the murder board.

"What if they found out that you turned Elena, and this is a trap?" she inquired, not liking the scenario she was being pressured into.

"Then they wouldn't be meeting at the Roosevelt Hotel," McCord offered with a shrug. "We were very careful. No one knows she's made contact with us."

"Still," Gates cut in, glancing back and forth between them, before locking her steely gaze on McCord. "There's a risk that they could see Detective Beckett and realize that she's not Elena. I'm not putting one of my best in the line of fire without some assurances."

"Hendricks?" McCord called, signaling him with a motion of her hand.

He nodded. "We're confident that won't be a problem," Hendricks contended on behalf of his partner. "In the text they asked Elena to wear a red scarf, which tells us that they don't know her on sight." He strolled over to the conference table, and picked up on of the folders, offering it to Gates. "See for yourself."

While Captain Gates examined the transcript of the text messages to Elena Markov's cellphone, McCord gave Beckett what was supposed to be a reassuring look. "We'll have people in place watching every move you make," she asserted. "I have enough agents for that. And Captain Fowler will provide some of his own personnel. We can even fit you with a monitored mic, if you like. But I'd rather not."

Beckett just stood there, speechless, still processing. Arching her neck, she stared at the troubled and worried face of Elena Markov on the flat screen television. Her heartstrings pulled for the woman. Beckett may not like it, especially the tactics used by McCord and Fowler to convince her, but she knew that her mind was made up the moment she stepped into the room. She couldn't let anything happen to that poor woman. It wasn't in her nature. And while she hated leaving the Naomi Allen case unfinished, Captain Gates was right. Detectives Esposito and Ryan could handle it just fine with Detective Inspector Colin Hunt assisting them. She trusted them to solve it, well, her boys anyway. She wasn't entirely sure about Hunt. But her dislike was personal. So far, he'd proven to be a capable investigator. So, she'd just have to accept that.

"Detective," McCord said, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "This isn't an order. And I'm aware this is a huge ask. But something big is going on out there, and this is our best chance to find out what that is. Just… well, the meeting is set for—" she checked her watch, "—less than eight hours from now. And we have a lot to prepare for in that time." She paused, squinting in thought. "Take an hour. Think it over. But I'll be needing an answer soon."


	9. Chapter 8

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 8**_

* * *

"What're you doing?"

Castle jerked his head up, amazed at how absorbed in the world of sexy and badass Detective Nikki Heat he had been that he hadn't realized the young CIA computer specialist had been speaking to him. Blinking, he glanced at Vikram Singh with a thin smile.

"Writing," he answered, looking back at the notepad in his hand as he jotted down a few more sentences while they were still fresh in his mind.

They were presently sitting in the back of a nondescript white van, disguised as a city maintenance vehicle, parked in a London alleyway outside the building where their target was set to have a covert meeting with his British Intelligence counterpart. Castle had to admit, it was highly suspect that the pair weren't meeting more openly in a government building or MI6 headquarters, but rather the basement of a commercial office building.

Agents Logan Hoyt and Abigail Preston had been sitting upfront, having already planted the bugs and micro-cameras in the location their intel told them the meeting would be taking place. After which, Preston left to maintain surveillance around the corner, where she could keep an eye on the front entrance of the building. Vikram was manning the computer terminals built into the back of the van, setting up the three monitors to display all the video feeds from the hidden cameras, and calibrating the speakers to broadcast the audio. And Castle, as senior officer, was supervising.

"Writing? Oh, that's cool," Vikram said. "What're you writing?"

"Stories," Castle offered with a shrug, not big on sharing. Truthfully, besides Kate, only his mother and daughter had read his work. He'd been a little gun shy, to borrow a phrase, since his first two books, which he'd published under a pseudonym of R.A. Rodgers, had failed to find readers. Sales had been bad.

"What kind of stories?" Vikram asked.

Castle stared at the man.

"Sorry, just curious," Vikram gave a little chuckle. "Just… I'm a little nervous is all. This is my first field op."

After a long interval, Castle relented with a soft sigh. "When I was younger, before the Company, I wanted to be a writer. Still do, I suppose."

"What happened?"

Castle shrugged. "It never took off. And York recruited me."

"But you still write?"

"Off and on, yes," he nodded. "It's more of a hobby now."

Vikram shook his head, and gestured to the notepad in Castle's hand. "Seems like more than a 'hobby' to me."

A deep peal of laughter escaped him, and his eyes crinkled in mirth. "Kate thinks I should publish them," he found himself admitting before he could stop himself.

"Kate?" Vikram's brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed. "That's Detective Kate Beckett, right? She's your girlfriend?"

"Um, yeah," Castle confirmed, wary.

"Weren't you ordered to terminate your relationship with her?" Vikram questioned. Castle could tell by the younger man's tone that he wasn't being critical, just curious.

"That's right," he said.

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand, Mr. Singh?" Castle shifted in his seat, casually leaning back.

"There are rules against fraternization for field operatives, right? Attachments, relationships… they can compromise you."

"All true," Castle agreed. "But what sort of life is that? How much must a man sacrifice for the greater good? When does that become too much? Where does the line cross the point of no return? If we aren't allowed the freedom to live and love, then what the hell are we fighting for?"

Vikram pursed his lips and looked away, thoughtful. Castle patted the man's shoulder.

"I love my job," Castle said. "I'm good at it. But that doesn't mean I don't aspire to have more, to have the same freedom as the people whose freedom I defend."

"I see your point," Vikram inclined his head. "You're a lucky man, Agent Castle. You've found a way to have both."

Castle offered a tight smile, a tinge of guilt twisting in his gut as he thought of the consequences that might tear him away from one of the most important persons in his life. "It's not easy," he said with shrug. "I haven't seen her in months. I miss her. But… yeah, in the long run, I think it's worth it. How does the saying go? 'Tis better to love and lost than never to have loved at all. Alfred Lord Tennyson."

Vikram bobbed his head for a long beat before halting, his brow wrinkling as he registered the last part. "Wait. Really? That was him? I always assumed it was just some proverb."

"It's become one, yes," Castle inclined in his head. "But, it was first used by Tennyson in his poem _In Memoriam A.H.H._ I think you'd find a lot of proverbs started somewhere, by someone, before they became… well, became proverbs."

"I guess you really do learn something new every day," Vikram chuckled at the strange logic of it all.

There was a crackle in Castle's earbud, and judging from the wince from his companion, the inexperience computer tech hadn't bothered to test the volume on his earpiece. Castle suppressed a smirk as Vikram adjusted the sound on his. Eventually, Preston's voice echoed in Castle's head.

"_Target's vehicle is pulling up to the building_," she reported.

Getting his game face on, Castle flipped the small notepad shut and stuffed it into his pocket. He leaned forward in the chair, and squinted at the monitors.

"Do we have a camera out front?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Vikram nodded, tapping a few keys and punching up the image on the center monitor.

Castle narrowed his eyes as he watched the black Escalade pulled up to the curb. Two beefy men, security, climbed out. One of them walked over to the rear curbside door, and opened it. Assistant Deputy Director Dan Kovaks stepped out, combing his thick brownish gray hair back with his hand.

"He really does look like a weasel, doesn't he?" Castle muttered to himself.

"Huh?" Vikram asked, glancing over at him.

"Nothing," Castle assured, smirking.

"Those security personnel ours?" Vikram inquired, looking worried.

"No," Castle said after some thought, scrutinizing the pixelated image. "Look how they're holding themselves. Outside hires."

"_I have sights on the target_," Preston announced over the radio. "_Orders?_"

Castle pressed his hand to his ear. "Proceed as planned."

"_Affirmative_."

Beside him, Vikram tensed as Preston appeared on the monitor, casually strolling down the walkway with other pedestrians, playing like she was distracted by her mobile phone. "Are we sure this is going to work? He won't recognize her, will he?"

"He shouldn't," Castle assured, though his gut twisted with worry all the same. Samson York and Jackson Hunt had selected both Hoyt and Preston because they'd never, at least to their knowledge, met with Kovaks at the Langley, or any other CIA facility. He pursed his lips and swallowed. "Fingers crossed."

The young man actually did it. Castle repressed a grin, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. As she approached Kovaks and his security, Preston lifted her phone with both hands, texting with her thumbs as she continued to walk. She was perfectly aligned, and as planned, fumbled into Kovaks, bumping him slightly, and almost tripping. It was laughable how slow the security guards were. Kovaks shot a brief glare at them, before turning to Preston. Being a gentleman, rare for him, Castle was sure, Kovaks helped her stabilize as she profusely apologized. A grin spread across his face as Castle caught the quick movement of her hand as she planted the bug on their target. Meanwhile, Kovaks waved off her apology, and sent her on her way, none the wiser.

"It worked!" cheered Vikram, but then frowned, glancing at Castle in concern. "It did work?"

Shaking his head, Castle gestured to the laptop in front of the computer tech. "You tell me, Mr. Singh?"

"Oh, right… sorry," he apologized, and ducked down, punching in commands. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth and he visibly relaxed. "Yeah. It worked. Homing beacon is active." A digitally rendered map of London appeared on the laptop's screen, and a small red dot appeared at the exact spot Kovaks was presently standing.

Castle grinned. He pressed his hand to his ear. "Good work, Preston." After she acknowledged his praise, he turned to Vikram and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "You like shawarma?"

Vikram's fingers stopped on the keyboard and he looked up at him. "My parents were from India, not Turkey," he declared, mildly affronted. "And I was born in Ohio."

"Hey, easy there," Castle raised his hands. "I'm just asking if you like it."

"Oh," he ducked his head down, abashed. "Yeah. I do."

"Great," Castle grinned, taking no offense to the young man's assumption. He probably got it all the time, which was a shame. "Because I know this great place. We'll hit it up afterwards. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sir," Vikram grinned. "Sounds good."

"Great," Castle clapped him on the back, and then reclined his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at the monitors, where Kovaks was still standing outside his vehicle, talking on his phone. "And now we play the waiting game."

XXX

She went to the break room, figuring it would be the best place to get some time alone to think. And she had a lot to think about.

The assignment hadn't been an order, per se, but from the briefing Beckett got the distinct impression the she really didn't have much of a choice. Her heart pulled for Elena Markov. The poor woman had been put in a difficult bind. She had no doubt that the Feds had put pressure on her to cooperate, and Beckett didn't like that. No. Not one bit.

Feeling overwhelmed, Beckett turned to the coffee machine, and poured herself a cup. She found some creamer in the refrigerator, praised whatever higher power was out there that it hadn't past its expiration date, and hoped it would help dilute the repugnant taste. Grimacing, she sipped the awful coffee, keenly missing the skim lattes, with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, that Castle had plied her with. He'd spoiled her, and now that he was away on assignment, it wasn't fair.

The break room door opened and Agent Rachel McCord stepped in, closing the door behind her. "May I have a word, Detective Beckett?"

"I'm still thinking," was all she said, shifting to stand by the tall round table off to the side, putting the mug down as she let out a sigh and closed her eyes. "You said I had an hour."

"You're wondering _why me_?" McCord stated after a brief gap of silence, moving over to the coffee machine, reaching up in the cupboard and retrieving a mug. She poured herself a cup, hesitantly sniffed it, and frowned. With a shrug of acceptance, she took a sip. "God, this is awful. How do you stand it?"

"Years of practice," came Beckett's retort as she stifled a smirk. "I've built up a tolerance. Why? Does the Justice Department provide better coffee?

"Perhaps," McCord said, almost cryptically. She glanced over at Beckett, took three steps over, and then stopped short, turning back around and dumping the rest of the coffee down the drain, placing the used mug in the sink. She joined Beckett at the table. "I will not submit my body to more of that sewage swill."

Beckett shrugged, before taking a sip from her cup. "It's an acquired taste."

"Like your boyfriend," McCord interjected.

Gritting her teeth, Beckett flashed the Federal agent a mild glare, growing agitated by the continued putdowns. "What is it you have against Castle?"

McCord shifted her stance, pursing her lips as she mulled over her response. Her eyes narrowed just a bit before she finally answered. "He's holding you back."

Caught off guard by that, Beckett fumbled around for a response. "I beg your pardon?"

"You have potential, Detective," McCord asserted. "Great potential. Personally, I think it's being wasted here. You could be doing a lot more, on a bigger stage. You've got the raw talent, and the smart mind to make it work."

Flabbergasted, Beckett eyed the Justice Department agent warily. "Are you trying to recruit me?"

"What if I am?"

"I… I don't know," Beckett admitted, knitting her eyebrows together as she looked down at the tabletop. "I like it here. This is my home."

"But your stagnating, Detective," McCord put forth. "You can't grow unless you're challenged."

Fire flashed in her eyes. "My job is plenty challenging," Beckett insisted, feeling the need to defend, not just herself, but her fellow NYPD police officers. Sure, they didn't have the cool toys and gadgets that the Feds had, but they got the job done, and they were damn good at it.

"No offense intended," McCord offered a small smile, but didn't appear at all contrite. "I'm just saying, with your abilities, you could be doing more. Just think about it."

"All right," Beckett relented, deciding to accept the praise for what it was worth. She glanced around, checking to see if anyone else was close enough to overhear. Satisfied, she focused back on McCord and lowered her voice. "You know Castle's really a—"

"CIA officer?" McCord raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I do."

"Okay," Beckett hedged, nose wrinkling as she contemplated the confirmation, uncertain how to then proceed. Deciding, she shifted and locked eyes with the Federal agent. "You're not exactly in the same area, but similar enough, so then, tell me exactly how it is that Castle's holding me back?"

McCord shifted, cocking her head as she eyed Beckett with an evaluating gaze. "Look, I'll tell you something, okay?" She waited for Beckett to nod before continuing. "I was engaged once. He was a doctor at Walter Reed, so he understood the long hours and missed dinners, et cetera… very considerate. And when I was a year out of Quantico, I was busting my ass on this case. It was my first big chance, and we had been going at it straight for a month none stop. It didn't leave much time for him… for us. I didn't even notice. Thing is, it wasn't just me, it was him as well. Our jobs were everything. It was important work. For both of us. We were both determined, career-oriented individuals."

"I think I know how this story goes," Beckett grumbled and took a sip of her coffee, grimacing at the foul aftertaste. It sounded all too similar to the challenges she had faced with Josh that were now starting to crop up in her relationship with Castle, namely the separation.

"See! You're smart, you've got good instincts," McCord actually offered her a genuine smile. It was a little frightening. "So, it went on like that, case after case. And we just sort of drifted apart, without even realizing it." She shrugged. "And one day, it just hit us. We were living together, but we really weren't _living_ together."

She sympathized, even understood it, but she had to disagree with the obvious comparisons McCord was attempting to make with Beckett's relationship with Castle. "I get what you're saying, I do," she assured. "I had a similar issue with my previous boyfriend. But—"

"Please, don't lie to me or yourself, Detective," McCord shook her head, disappointed, "and say it's different this time."

"But it is," she insisted with force and vehemence, not sure who she was trying to convince more, McCord or herself.

"Why? Because you love him, and he loves you?" An amused look touched McCord's eyes. "That's what I thought. And let me tell you, no matter how much you wish so, it's not enough. I live for the job, Detective. And I see that same drive in you. It sustains me, gives me purpose, more than any personal attachments would or ever could."

Beckett swallowed, averting her gaze. "That sounds like a lonely life."

"Hey, if I want to let off some steam, I just go to a bar and pick up some guy, take him home for the night. Nothing more complicated than that. It keeps you free of… obligations," McCord explained. "That's this job. This life. The path we've both decided to walk. You're on it, Detective, whether you realize it or not. And relationships… they just don't work in it. They're not compatible. In our line of work, if we want to be the best, relationships are a weakness and a distraction. You're better off without him than with him, in my opinion."

Beckett shook her head. She sounded just like Lanie, saying that all you needed was something fun and uncomplicated to stave off the loneliness that comes from a career focused life. Yes, relationships were work—hard work at times—but with the right person, boy were they worth it. "You're wrong, Agent McCord," she stated, confident in her assertion. "You're so wrong."

"Yeah, well, I speak from experience," McCord declared, undeterred. "And if you want to make something of yourself in our chosen profession, I'd advise you to pay attention and cut it off before you're too deep, sever all ties and forget about him. You'll be better off. Trust me. Then you can focus on the job and be a better you." She tapped the table. "Think on it, Detective."

And she then left Beckett alone, brooding and uncertain, with much more to think about than the undercover assignment being thrust upon her.

XXX

"_Something's happening_."

Castle jerked his head up at the sound of Preston's voice over the radio. He shifted in his chair, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the multiple digital windows arranged in a boxed grid across the monitors mounted on the interior of the van. He spotted movement in one of the squares. The darkness somewhat distorted the image.

"Enlarge S-7 and enhance," he instructed.

The click-clack of fingers flying across the keys filled the silence as Vikram worked to obey his commands. Soon one of the squares flashed in the second row from the top and maximized to fill the screen. The black and white video was grainy and blurry, and it took a few more keystrokes from the computer specialist until the pixels sharpened and Castle was able to make out a group of men, standing in the shadows of the basement.

"Gotcha," he muttered, then raised his hand to his ear. "The meeting's about to begin. MI6 is on site."

"_Target is moving_," came Preston's voice.

Castle flicked his eyes over to the second monitor, surveyed the smaller grid of video feeds, and nodded to Vikram, who wordlessly enhanced the feed from the front of the building. They watched as Assistant Deputy Director Kovaks checked his phone and nodded, saying something to his two hired security men. One stayed with the car as the other followed him as he disappeared off screen, entering the building.

"_Should I follow?_"

"Negative," Castle said to Preston, already picking up visual of Kovaks on another hidden camera. "Hold position." He turned to Vikram. "Audio ready for record?"

Vikram doubled checked his equipment. "Yes, sir."

Pursing his lips and breathing through his nose, Castle leaned back and watched, following Kovaks and his man as they walked through the building's lobby and bypassed the elevator, heading for the stairs. Taking out his TCD-74, he sent off a quick mission status report to the command post in the Bunker, where senior agent in charge Jackson Hunt acknowledged the update. Flipping his phone shut, he slipped it back into his pocket, folded his arms across his chest and waited.

"Enlarge S-8," he ordered. Vikram complied. "Enhance."

The image sharpened, showing Kovaks greeting a tall, distinguished man with a mane of gray hair.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Vikram, eyes wide. "Isn't that Sir Rhys Pearce, the Foreign Secretary?"

Castle squinted at the image on screen. He thought that face had been familiar. "Yes, it is."

"I'm confused," Vikram murmured, voicing Castle's own puzzlement. "I thought Hunt said Kovaks was going to be meeting with his counterpart in MI6."

"Our intel was off," Castle said. "Worrisome, yes, but not entirely uncommon." He paused, narrowed his eyes. "Recording?"

"Visual and audio, yes," Vikram affirmed. "Started the moment Kovaks entered the building."

"Good man," Castle praised, earning a smile from the computer specialist. "Let me hear the audio."

Vikram leaned forward and turned a switch, soon the interior of the van was filled with the echoing voices of the two men on screen.

Kovaks: _I don't appreciate being kept waiting.  
_Pearce: _You Americans have no sense of restraint. Always now. No patience.  
_Kovaks: _For reason. I don't trust the Knave.  
_Pearce: _Kilmer is one of yours. It isn't our fault you lost control of your dog.  
_Kovaks: _He's dangerous. The Board should be concerned._

Castle's ears perked up at the mention of the rumored leadership of the Consortium. He suspected Bracken either had a seat at the table, or connections to one of the members. He leaned forward, watching as Sir Pearce chuckled and shook his head.

Pearce: _They are aware of the situation. Your Knave has been busy, consolidating the remnants of Johann Kriedt's operation. It was a mistake to make an enemy of him.  
_Kovaks: _He was always unstable. We knew that.  
_Pearce: _Yet extremely effective. He did complete his assignment.  
_Kovaks: _And almost got caught.  
_Pearce: _Only because he was used for another job, one not approved by the Board. Which brings us to the point of this meeting, and why we couldn't risk communications being intercepted._

Bracken. It was all Castle could think, judging solely by Sir Rhys Pearce's last statement. This meeting had to do with Bracken. Perhaps the corrupt senator's use of Consortium assets had ruffled some feathers the wrong way amongst the higher echelons of the organization. Finally, after months of separation from his beloved Kate, his sacrifice was going to bear some fruit. He leaned forward, eager.

"Turn it up."

Vikram turned a knob and the volume increased so that the voices were no longer hushed murmurs in the echoing chamber of the darken basement, making each intake of breath detectable.

Kovaks: _His career is key to our cause. The Board wants him in the White House.  
_Pearce: _That was the plan, yes. But others can serve the same function.  
_Kovaks: _What are you saying?  
_Pearce: _It has come to our attention that he has a vendetta with a certain NYPD detective, and thanks to her relationship with one of your CIA operatives, she has the potential to expose more than just Lazarus.  
_Kovaks: _That won't happen. We have an asset in place to ensure that._

Castle's heart jumped into his throat. His chest heaved and he pursed his lips, trying to calm his breathing. He recalled his meeting with Danberg, and his friend's concerns regarding the BOLO that Detective Javier Esposito had issued with an attached sketch artist's facial rendering of a man that matched a person of interest involved with Ana Cavendish's murder. His nostrils flared as he inhaled a sharp breath. His fingers itched to take his phone out and call Kate, warn her, but then Sir Rhys Pearce was speaking again, drawing his attention back to the clandestine meeting between an Assistant Deputy Director of the CIA and the British Foreign Minister.

Pearce: _—know you ordered him to terminate the relationship, and yet he did not. Your operatives lack obedience.  
_Kovaks: _Samson York has always favored him. There are rumors, of course. I don't pay them any heed. They don't look alike, but that's not always the case between father and son._

Once again Castle felt his chest constrict and his breath catch. Vikram slowly rotated around to stare at him, mouth agape. Four months ago, Ray Kilmer had taunted Castle with the implication that he had only been recruited and advanced within the CIA because of his father's connections. Beckett had convinced him to ignore it, reassuring him that the villain had only been trying to play mind games. But now, Castle wasn't sure what to believe.

He let in a hollow breath and tried to repress the rising tide of emotions surging up, threatening to overwhelm him. He needed to focus on his assignment, his mission. The conversation unfolding on the monitors, while partially in code, could provide him with a connection to William Bracken, and finding evidence to take down the man responsible for his girlfriend's mother had to remain his priority. Everything else could wait for later.

Pearce: _Still, you could have pressed the issue.  
_Kovaks: _I can only do so much from my current position. And you know very well that there have always been variables beyond our control.  
_Pearce: _True. But that doesn't excuse the poor judgment with Lazarus. He's been sloppy with the organization's assets, using them for assignments outside the plan, for personal matters, not approved by the Board. He's become a liability. As have you.  
_Kovaks: _I've been loyal, damn it. I was told to clean up, and I—  
_Pearce: _Failed. And now he has a grudge. The Board has invested considerable capital in Lazarus_.  
Kovaks: _Precisely. It would be a waste to cut and run. He's assured me things will die down soon. We just need more—_

He went abruptly silent. Castle frowned and glanced over at Vikram.

"Have we lost audio?" he asked.

Vikram's fingers danced across his keyboard and he shook his head. "Negative. He's just stopped talking."

Squinting at the monitor, Castle noticed Kovaks was staring at something off screen. The image was still grainy enough that he couldn't really gauge the expression on the man's face all too well, but it appeared Kovaks was shocked and possibly afraid.

Kovaks: _What? Impossible! How did you—?_

His question was cut off by the silent pop of a silenced weapon. Castle watched in stunned horror as Assistant Deputy Direction Dan Kovaks jerked back two steps and crumpled to the ground. Sir Rhys Pearce spun around, staring in the same direction the now deceased Kovaks had been looking.

Pearce: _Guards! Guards!_

Another quiet pop emanated from the speakers and Pearce's left leg collapsed under him. A dark form materialized from the shadows, hulking and big. He towered over the slumped Foreign Minister. Pearce raised a hand up in defense. Castle and Vikram could hear him begging, pleading. But the assailant ignored him. He aimed his silenced pistol and fired a shot straight into the minister's forehead, right between the eyes. The assassin turned in place. It was eerie. It was like he knew exactly where the hidden cameras were. He stared right at one and smirked.

"_Come and get me, Castle, I dare you_," Ray Kilmer declared right before he shot the camera out, sending the video feed into static.


	10. Chapter 9

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 9**_

* * *

"Move. Move in. Now!"

Heart pounding fiercely inside his chest, Castle ducked his head as he stood up out of the seat. Turning, he yanked the sliding door open and hopped out of the van, pulling his SIG Sauer from his shoulder holster. Hoyt had already climbed out of the front seat and was heading for the alley side backdoor that led into the building. Castle spun around in place and put his hand out to stop Vikram from following him out into the alley.

He shook his head. "Not you. Stay in the van," he ordered.

Vikram let out a visible sigh of relief, slumping back down in his seat next to the array of electronic surveillance equipment. Castle nodded.

"Keep comms open," he said. "You'll be our eyes and ears."

"Yes, sir."

Nodding one more time, Castle gripped the handle and slammed the sliding door shut. He adjusted his hold on his SIG Sauer and jogged down the alley to join Hoyt. The fair-haired man stood at the ready on the opposite side of the steel door.

"_In the lobby_," came Preston's voice. "_Heading for the stairs_."

Castle pressed his hand to his ear and said, "Be careful, Abby. We don't know if Kilmer has any backup."

"_Roger that_."

"Castle?" Hoyt inquired.

"We take him alive," he answered, locking eyes with the other man. "But, we do have authorization to use extreme force, if necessary."

Hoyt nodded.

"You get that, Abby?" Castle asked.

"_Yeah_," came Preston's breathless voice over the radio.

"Okay."

Shifting his stance, Castle gripped the door handle, exchanging a look with Hoyt. They nodded as one, and then Castle jerked his arm back, yanking the door wide open. With years of training dictating their movements, the two of them charged through the opening, guns raised at the ready. Hoyt took point, heading down the narrow corridor, dimly lit by flickering florescent lights above.

As they worked their way down into the bowels of the basement complex, Castle worked at controlling his rapidly beating heart. Part of him was chastising himself for not expecting something like this happening. They knew Kilmer wanted Kovaks dead. Yet they'd had no actionable intel to suggest such a hit was imminent. Or that Kilmer was even in London. It had been believed the Knave was hold up somewhere in Eastern Europe, around Johann Kriedt's old stomping grounds.

But those weren't his only concerns.

Castle also had to work hard at suppressing the worry over some of the details revealed in the clandestine conversation between Kovaks and Pearce, specifically about how the Consortium had an asset in place to ensure Kate Beckett didn't expose their operation in New York. That unnerved him a lot. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her while he was so far away, unable to do anything to protect her. He had thought making a deal with Bracken was going to do that, but now he was having misgivings. Hell of a time to start second guessing his decisions. And compounded on all that was the talk about Samson York, and the hints that his friend and mentor could actually be his father.

It was a lot to take in.

But he had to compartmentalize it, lock it all away, focus on the here and now. Kilmer was too dangerous of an opponent to go in distracted. Castle had to trust in his years of training to see him through the coming conflict. He took three slow breaths as he moved behind Hoyt, clearing his mind of all diversions that would impede his attention on the mission.

Down a flight of stairs and around a corner, they entered the large underground chamber where the private meeting had taken place. It was illuminated by two uncovered bulbs suspended from wired chains from the ceiling, one of which was flickering. Castle turned right, while Hoyt went left. Two arches held up the room on either side, the cement ceiling was curved, giving the feel of a tunnel. Sounds echoed throughout the chamber making it difficult to pinpoint their origins.

Hoyt let out a curse as he tripped over the body of the security man who had accompanied Kovaks inside the building. A metallic clang resounded through the stone room, a door being shoved open, and Abigail Preston emerged from the shadows, her shoulder length brown hair flying around her face as she scanned the vicinity. She rounded towards the sprawled bodies near one of the bricked columns holding up the curved ceiling, and knelt down next to Sir Rhys Pearce, pressing her fingers against his throat.

"No pulse," she announced. She remained kneeling, glancing over at ADD Dan Kovaks. There was no need to check for a pulse there. The bullet between the eyes made it quite obvious he was gone.

"Fuck!" Hoyt declared through gritted teeth, striding over to join her. "This whole mission's gone tits up."

Preston cocked her head up and gave him a baleful glare. He just shrugged in response. Rolling her eyes, she stood up and her gaze flirted around the room.

Castle ignored them, keeping his focus on clearing the room, which would be difficult with the poor lighting, and all the niches and side entrances. He gripped his SIG Sauer firmly as he swept the vast underground chamber, knowing from their previous recon that the room had several locations where Kilmer could be hiding in the shadows.

"Shouldn't Pearce have had a body man?" Preston asked, her voice echoing throughout the basement chamber.

Hoyt stared down at the bloody remains of the Foreign Secretary. "This was an off books meeting," he supplied. "Kovaks lied to the Agency about it. We thought he was meeting his MI6 counterpart, not the damned Foreign Secretary."

Preston nodded. "Kovaks came with hired security, not ours."

"Same bet Pearce did the same."

"Then," Preston said, shaking her head, "Where's Pearce's man?"

"Right here, little lady," came an ominous voice. Ray Kilmer.

POP. POP.

The soft sounds echoed through the relative quiet of the chamber, reverberating off the curved ceiling.

"Castle!" Preston cried.

He pivoted around on his heels to see Hoyt clutching his side, his eyes bulging out of their sockets in pained shock. As he fell, Hoyt raised his weapon and fired once into the void. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall, yet was close enough to spook the assassin. Kilmer burst out from behind a brick pillar, grinning like a maniac as he pounced on Castle, knocking him over. His SIG Sauer went skidding across the stone floor. A hard fist plowed into his gut. Castle lost his breath and collapsed.

Kilmer moved quickly, rolling over him and righting himself with ease. He rose up off the floor and aimed his weapon. Grunting, Castle pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to where his gun had landed. Preston was returning fire as Kilmer stalked forward, unafraid. The man was unreal. He deftly dodged each shot, grinning wickedly the whole time. He raised his weapon up at the ceiling and within seconds one of the bulbs burst into an explosion of sparks and glass shards.

Fading, but still alive, Hoyt made a heroic effort to stand, but slipped on his own blood, landing face first into the cement floor. The thud he made when he fell was not encouraging. Preston moved quickly to his side to check. Her grim expression told Castle that Hoyt was gone. A sickening laugh echoed through the chamber as Kilmer advanced on her. Finding his gun, Castle picked it up and squinted in the dull light. He raised the SIG Sauer, holding it in the ready position, but his vision was slightly blurred since he was still recovering from the blow to his solar plexus. Shaking his head, he lowered his arm and dashed forward, colliding with Kilmer, knocking the killer off balance long enough to save Preston. The bullet sailed past her head, embedding in the pillar behind her, sending clay and dust into the air.

Kilmer roared with rage. He swung back around, fist raised. Castle deflected the blow, and planted a strike of his own to Kilmer's chest. The big man stumbled back, jaw clenched, eyes wild. Castle lifted his weapon, ready to fire, but Kilmer recovered fast. He grabbed Castle's wrist and redirected his aim just as he fired. The muzzle flashed, and the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the ceiling, shattering back on the floor, cracking the concrete.

Attempting a countermove, Castle swung his left fist upwards, towards Kilmer's jaw. But the bastard jerked back, and Castle's fist sailed through air. Taking advantage of the miss, Kilmer adjusted his own pistol, aiming it towards Castle's gut. Right before he could pull the trigger, Preston lunged out, sweeping her leg up and kicking the silenced pistol out of the psycho's grasp. It went clattering to the floor. Castle yanked his arm back, pulling his wrist free from the vice-like grip, startling Kilmer. But before he could fire, Kilmer jabbed his elbow right, batting the SIG Sauer from Castle's hand.

Preston launched another attack, jamming her fist square into Kilmer's back. The man grunted, stumbling forward. Castle wasn't prepared for it, and the two of them grappled for a moment before Kilmer got the upper hand. Grinning, with a wicked gleam in his crazed eyes, Kilmer head butted Castle, sending the agent staggering backwards, separating them.

Their eyes locked, and a shudder ran down Castle's spine at the unhinged quality reflecting back. A moment later, he caught the flash of a knife in the dim light.

Castle skipped back as Kilmer sliced the air. Seizing the opening for her own assault, Preston sprang in from the right, attempting to kick the knife out of his hand, but Kilmer moved, fast, grabbings her ankle and twisted, sending her spiraling down to the floor. Hard. She let out a cry as her shoulder slammed into the cement. Kilmer stabbed down, and she screamed as the blade penetrated her thigh. Castle launched himself at Kilmer, but the man was ready for him, already retreating.

"Castle," Preston shouted and held up her Beretta.

She tossed the handgun up in the air as Castle stalked forward. As if in slow motion, Castle caught the flying gun in mid-stride and quickly spun around to aim it at the retreating Kilmer.

"Freeze!" he shouted, amazed at the power of his own voice as it echoed throughout the chamber. "We've got you, Ray."

Kilmer halted in his steps and glanced at him with an almost detached expression. He wasn't even bothered by the delay. A twisted smirk formed over his lips.

"Do you, Rick?" Kilmer questioned, untroubled and slightly amused. "Do you?"

An electronic crackle hissed in his ear and Castle repressed a wince.

"_Sir_," Vikram's panicked voice came over the radio, a bit scratchy but still audible. "_Multiple hostiles closing on your location_."

Kilmer's grin grew. "Better luck next time." And then he flicked his wrist, sending the switchblade up to the ceiling. It collided with the remaining bulb, which shattered in a flickering burst of sparks, plunging them into darkness.

Gritting his teeth, Castle let loose a series of shots, firing blindly into the oppressing void. He was met with a maniacal laugh in response, just before doors flung open and two teams of four men in tactical gear stormed into the underground chamber, mounted flashlights glaring through the blackness.

"Drop your weapon!" one man yelled. "Now."

Castle did as he was instructed. He didn't like it, but he didn't want to risk getting shot by friendlies, though whether or not these men could fit into that category remained to be seen.

"We're CIA, on a sanctioned mission," Castle said as calmly and unthreateningly as possible, hands raised. "If you contact your superiors, they can confirm—"

Suddenly one man in the back of each squad started firing, shooting their comrades in the back. Four men managed to turn, one falling before he could return fire. Castle dove down and quickly retrieved the Beretta. As the fight ensued, he scrambled over to Preston. She hissed through gritted teeth as he helped her up, looping one of her arms over his shoulder as they hobbled over to some cover behind a brick pillar.

"How are you?" he asked in a hurried voice, eyes scanning over her taut body.

"I'm fine," she grunted, keeping one hand pressed to her upper thigh. "It stings like a bitch. Don't think he cut any arteries. Just… _fuck_… hurts."

"Who knows, maybe you'll get a cool scar," Castle winked, and Preston groaned in exasperation as the tactical team did battle with the rogues.

"I was warned about you," she huffed.

Despite the situation, Castle found himself chuckling. "Afraid I save my flirting for someone else," he informed. "Sorry to disappoint. Though, I'm extremely flattered you—"

"Shut up," she interjected, but her lips quirked up. Clenching her jaw to suppress the pain, she stretched down to retrieve her backup pistol from an ankle holster. With that done, she locked eyes with Castle.

Nodding, Castle released a quick breath before shifting his position to gaze around the edge of the pillar. The fire fight was still going on, and it didn't look like it was going all that well for the good guys. Only three remained, two had gone down immediately after the surprise attack, and then another had fallen before he could return fire. Castle slipped back behind the pillar, and glanced over at Preston.

"Cover me," he said.

She pursed her lips and breathed through her nose, working at suppressing the pain, but still managed to acknowledge his request with a nod.

XXX

He shoved the door open and stepped into the alley. The ground was covered in a thin sheen of wetness from a light sprinkle. A tight smile touched his lips. London. He did have a fondness for the place, made even more so thanks to his recent triumph. Assistant Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency Daniel Walter Kovaks had finally paid the price for his betrayal. Foreign Secretary Rhys Pearce was just icing on the cake. Two birds. One stone. Problem solved.

Glancing about the alleyway, his keen eyes landed on the ubiquitous white van parked nearby. He smirked. Rick Castle really was an imbecile, wasn't he? Had he really thought he was fooling anyone with that? It was so obvious, laughably so.

Shaking his head, Kilmer turned to his right, away from the CIA surveillance van, and started down the alley. A shiver ran up his spine, and he pursed his lips, pleased he'd thought of wearing a jacket. Slipping a hand into the inside pocket, he produced his cellphone when it started to buzz.

"I told you not to call me," he answered.

"_Something's come up_."

"What?" his mood started to sour.

"_There's some sort of operation happening that's interfering with the side mission_," the asset informed him.

Kilmer narrowed his eyes. "That's not my problem," he said. "You work it out."

"_What if the Board finds out?_"

"They won't, unless you blow it," growled Kilmer, growing impatient. "Besides, the objectives coincide."

"_I want double_," the asset insisted. "_Hazard pay, if you will_."

"Don't take me for a fool," Kilmer said, voice calm yet deadly. "The last man that did is now dead." He slowed his pace, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, satisfied that there were no signs of pursuit, yet. "Do we understand one another?"

There was a pause, he could almost hear the audible sounds of the man gulping on the other end of the line. "_Understood_."

"Good," Kilmer replied, tersely. "Now, do not call again until the mission is accomplished." He ended the call before the asset could respond.

Gritting his teeth, a low growl of frustration rumbled through his chest. He was dealing with incompetent fools. Even when he granted one of them a plum side job attached to a sanctioned mission by the Consortium, he was still dealing with children. The New York asset was becoming a liability. He squinted, thinking of the photograph he'd received earlier, which now had potential to be used for more than just taunting Castle. But for the moment, he had more pressing concerns. He buttoned that idea down for later thought. Letting out a breath, he brought his phone back up and made a different call.

"_Sir?_" came an answer after only two rings.

"First team is down, send back up," he ordered.

"_Yes, sir_."

"And send the helicopter," he added.

After receiving an affirmative to both commands, Kilmer pocketed the cellphone and allowed himself a smile. Today had been a good day. And the future promised more. Much more. It was going to be fun.

XXX

Castle rolled out from behind the protection of the pillar and Preston moved into his spot, firing a series of shots in the direction of the rogue agents. He shoved himself up to his feet and pushed forward, jumping back as one of the men in tactical gear went down in front of him. Taking his place, Castle raised the Beretta and returned fire. One of the rogues went down, and the other fell back behind an archway for cover. In the flash of gunfire, Castle caught a glimpse of Kilmer rushing towards the exit Castle and Hoyt had initially entered the chamber.

The two remaining good guys went down soon after, and Castle vaulted over one of them and ducked behind another stone column, working his way forward. A spray of bullets ricocheted off the column, sending dust and particulates into the air. His nose itched and he stifled a sneeze. Breathing through clenched teeth, he leaned his shoulder against the pillar, risking a glance around the edge. He couldn't see the rogue agent, but knew he was concealed behind the brick facade of the arch ahead of him.

Glancing back, he saw Preston hedge out from her hiding spot and send three bullets into the brickwork above the archway. Dust and detritus tumbled down. Another two bullets loosened several bricks. Gravity did the rest. The red clay blocks toppled down and struck the remaining rogue, and he cried out in shock, fumbling backwards out of his protective cover.

Already in position, Castle set his shoulders and took aim. He fired two precise shots and the man went down with a hard thud. Castle rushed across the distance and kicked the weapon away. Kneeling, he checked for a pulse. Satisfied the man was no longer a threat, that is to say he was dead, Castle stood. Pirouetting around, he hurried back to Preston, who was hunkered down behind the brick pillar near where Kovaks and Pearce had been shot and killed by Kilmer. He crouched and held out his hand, helping her up to her feet. She groaned, a hand shooting out to brace herself against the stone column as she stumbled.

"We gotta get you out of here," Castle asserted, slipping an arm around her waist, encouraging her to let him shoulder the brunt of her weight.

She shook her head, brushing him off. He stared at her, brow furrowed, baffled by her response. A tight grin worked its way across her lips and her brown eyes sparkled with pride. "I managed to slap him with a tracker."

Realizing what she meant, Castle smirked, and squeezed her strong bicep in recognition. "Clever girl," he said, grinning cheekily.

She rolled her eyes, an idiosyncrasy similar to Detective Kate Beckett. His heart involuntarily clenched at the reminder.

"Go," Preston enjoined. "Get the bastard. I'm fine. I've got this."

Castle hesitated, not liking the idea of leaving her behind in the darken basement chamber when she was injured.

"Go," she repeated, shoving him away from her. "Go!"

Releasing a slow breath, he stepped back and nodded. Castle offered her a lighthearted salute, and then steeled himself for the chase ahead.

XXX

Beckett stood there, in the solitude of the break room, contemplating her conversation with McCord. The metaphorical path she had been talking about was a familiar one. It was one that Beckett had been walking on before a certain ruggedly handsome spy stumbled into her life, upsetting the apple cart, awakening long dormant feelings and desires that she had forgotten she had. McCord may be satisfied with walking that path alone, even believing it was a necessity to do so, but Beckett disagreed, vehemently.

She had walked that path alone for years, even when she'd been in a relationship, she'd been alone; Always one foot out the door, never fully committing, not wanting to risk the heartbreak if it failed. She hadn't been having any fun, not really living. And that wouldn't have been what her mother would have wanted. It wasn't really what she wanted either. It was a dull life, hollow.

Something fun and uncomplicated, with no strings attached, a transient thing, may work for people like Lanie and McCord, but not for Kate Beckett. She wasn't wired that way. She craved the challenge, the struggle. It was part of her DNA. She was fiercely independent, and didn't need someone to help complete her, like some jigsaw puzzle, yet she desired companionship, genuine long-term companionship, not a passing thing. And she had found that with Rick Castle. Something real. Something special. She felt that in her very bones.

Being with him wasn't about fulfilling the societal expectation of pairing off and cohabiting with someone. It was hard to explain, a feeling deep in her core that brightened, grew freer, when he was around. And it made her happy. _He_ made her happy. Being with him, in every sense, made her happy. And, in the end, wasn't that what really mattered. Not what others thought. Not what society thought. But what _she_ thought. It was her life, after all. Not theirs.

Shaking her head, Beckett gulped down the last dregs of coffee in her cup, and pursed her lips, swallowing. No one else got to define her life for her. McCord spoke from experience, yes, but she hadn't gone through what Beckett had, walked in her shoes, to borrow a poetic parlance. The paths they walked were similar yes, but Beckett's experiences were different from those experienced by the other woman.

The unique differences between people is what made the human experiment so special and wonderful. So, for McCord, being in a committed, long-term relationship with someone, loving that person, and being loved by them, may not be entirely compatible with her chosen career path, but that was Rachel McCord. Not Kate Beckett. Yes, there were some things she wasn't thrilled about when it came to her relationship with Castle, namely the extended intervals of time spent apart, but in the long run those issues were minor.

Beckett dug her phone out of her pocket, calling up her text messages. Scrolling through her conversation with Castle, she found the photo he'd sent the other day. She smiled, seeing her rumpled looking boyfriend staring back at her from the iPhone screen. He was hers. And she was his. They belonged together. Even separated by distances and time zones, they were still one. Always. The heart wanted what the heart wanted. And she was long since passed denying it.

She pressed her thumb down on the screen over the selfie until a popup menu appeared. Moving her thumb down, she pressed the save option, preserving a copy of the photo on the cellphone's memory circuits. Satisfied, she gave little nod. Recalling the messaging app, she typed out a quick, straightforward text to her boyfriend.

_I love you_.

He was probably busy, working on his assignment for NCS Director Samson York, but still, she wanted it there, waiting for him when he had free time to check his messages. She could easily imagine the grin it would bring to his lips.

With that finished, Beckett was able to push aside the conflicting emotions McCord had stirred up with her 'helpful' suggestions, and considered the undercover mission the Federal agent and the NYPD Narcotics Division head wanted her to undertake. McCord had been right about one thing. Kate Beckett had a strong drive that urged her to succeed in her job, a moral compass the compelled her to take a stand. To do the right thing. She put herself on the line. It was who she was. It was who she always would be.

Still, she hated leaving Esposito and Ryan in the lurch on a case that had stalled. Beckett disliked leaving things unfinished. However, as Captain Gates had reminded her, her colleagues had backup in the form of Detective Inspector Colin Hunt of the Scotland Yard. A smirk touched her lips at the thought of saddling the boys with the outside consultant. Her sympathies and attitude towards the handsome Brit had shifted overnight, no small part thanks to how easily he'd turned his attentions to her best friend when she'd rejected his overtures for drinks and more. She still couldn't believe Lanie had slept with him. Esposito better not find out, because that would just be too much drama for her to deal with, and Beckett had enough of her own.

Checking her wristwatch, she sighed, noting she had thirty more minutes until she had to give Captain Fowler and Agent McCord an answer. Everyone knew what it was going to be. But formalities still had to be observed, especially when she was being pulled off an active case and tasked into a different division.

Wherever Castle was, she hoped that his day was going better than hers.


	11. Chapter 10

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 10**_

* * *

Castle burst out of the door and stumbled into the back alley. His momentum carried him towards the surveillance van parked there. It must have briefly rained why all the action was going on inside, because the ground was slippery. He skidded slightly and raised his hands, banging against the backdoor of the van. A muffled curse of alarm came from within.

"_Castle, was that you?_" Vikram's panicked voice echoed over the radio.

Grunting, Castle righted himself and bobbed his head in response, before remembering that the computer specialist couldn't see him. He put a hand to his ear.

"Yes," he answered, cocking his head to the right when he caught sight of movement in his periphery.

"_Oh, good_," Vikram sighed, clearly relieved. "_Kilmer exited a few minutes ago. I was concerned he'd be suspicious of the van, just sitting here. You know, it's kind of obvious really. A nondescript white van sitting in the back alley alongside a building that a secret meeting is taking—_"

"Oh shit," Castle cut him off, seeing three shady men appeared around the corner and spot him. One pointed in his direction, and they immediately shifted into a run, heading straight for him.

"_What!? What's wrong?_" Vikram asked, the level of panic in his voice raising.

Pressing his hand to his ear, Castle turned and pushed off the van, pumping his legs as he headed in the opposite direction. "Don't open the door. Stay in the van," he said over the radio.

"_Why?_"

"Hostiles inbound," Castle said, hoofing it down the alley. He ran around the corner and skidded to a stop. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Another set of three men were running down the adjacent alley.

"_Castle?_"

He ignored Vikram for a second, and glanced about for another route. There was a small outside café to his right, where a handful of people were enjoying afternoon tea and biscuits. Straight ahead was the side entrance of a cathedral, ringed by a circle of columns. One of the doors were open, and from a glance, four people were loitering outside, one taking a smoke at the base of the stairs as he chattered with another. Castle acted quickly. He dashed through the wrought iron gates that opened into the small courtyard, and hurriedly skipped up the small flight of stairs as fast as his feet could carry him. Two startled Metropolitan police officers jumped with a delayed reaction to prevent him from entering.

"Oy!" one of them shouted at him as he blew right past.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he let out a cheeky grin when he saw that his pursuers were stopped by the officers at the door. Castle slowed to a trot and maneuvered through the small vestibule and entered the church proper.

He came to a sudden halt when he found himself staring up at a spectacular domed rotunda, and he realized that he'd blundered into St. Paul's Cathedral. He felt so foolish, having forgotten their close proximity to one of London's iconic landmarks. Presently, he was standing in the North Transient of the famous cathedral.

It was silent, save for the soft voice of a priest at the head of the altar and the occasional cough from the rows of people sitting in the pews, all clad in black. A funeral was in progress. Several mourners turned and stared at him with incredulous expressions. He stood just beyond the threshold, sweeping his gaze over the sea of people, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his brow. As he took a moment to catch his breath, he realized the place was packed.

"Sorry," he murmured, holding up a hand in apology as he took several steps forward, attempting to let out an air of nonchalance as best he could under the present circumstances.

Castle pressed his hand to his ear, and spoke softly, ignoring the bizarre and confused—two or three disapproving and angry—looks cast in his direction as he casually walked down the aisle. "Vikram, you with me?"

"_Sir?_"

"Preston tagged Kilmer with a tracker," he said hurriedly, keeping a wary eye out for pursuit. "I need—"

"_On it_," Vikram replied quickly. Castle could envision the computer tech hunching over the built-in terminal in the back of the van, typing away on the keyboard as he called up the relevant program on the monitor. "_Got it_."

"Where's Kilmer?" he asked, pausing to stare up at the magnificent dome. It was quite impressive.

"_He's about a quarter of a mile west of you_," Vikram answered. "_Turn right_."

Castle acknowledged, and glanced down at the black and white patterned marble floor, trying his best to remain respectful, even if he was intruding on a solemn occasion. He reached the end of the aisle and moved to the right. Lifting his head, he looked down the nave where three of his pursuers were slowly stalking towards him.

"Um… I can't do that," he muttered.

"_Why not?_" Vikram inquired, baffled.

"Because I'm being followed," Castle explained, ducking his head down and casually spinning around, heading back the other way across the rotunda, only to see two other men emerge from the South Transient, one with his hand inside his jacket. Castle had no doubt the man was clutching a weapon. His jaw clenched. Having a pack audience inside London's St. Paul's Cathedral didn't seem to bother his pursuers.

"_What do you mean—By who?_"

"MI6, Consortium, Kilmer's men," he offered with a shrug, his head turning like on a swivel, highly aware of all the eyes from the mourners and officiants trying to proceed with the funeral. "At this point, does it matter?"

"_Okay, okay, then… uh… just get out of there, and then go right_," Vikram suggested.

Castle paused, realizing he was circling an elaborately ornate coffin set up on a dais in the center of the circular rotunda, colorful flowers surrounding it. The priest, all dress in his finery, had stopped speaking and was staring at him with an astonished look. Numerous mourners, some wearing military dress uniforms, were now gaping at him, a combination of shocked, outraged, and appalled expressions painted on their faces. He swallowed thickly and held up his arms to halt the menacing stalkers, aggrieved that he had to disrupt such a ceremony.

"I am terribly sorry," he announced to the assembled gathering. "Excuse me."

And then he took off, heading around the curve of the rotunda, vaulting past the stunned priest, who stared after him with wide eyes. His footsteps, along with those of his pursuers, echoed in the silence, as he raced across the marble floor. He spotted a door pressed into a hidden recess off to the right of the quire, and altered his course.

Shoving through the door, Castle found himself in a circular tower, with a rotating stairwell that hugged the curved wall heading straight up. The famous geometric staircase of St. Paul's Cathedral. He made to move down the small flight towards the side exit just below him, but two men appeared through the door, jostling one another in their haste. Castle quickly pivoted around, glanced through the door he'd just entered, seeing his pursuers not far behind.

Arching his neck up, he sighed, and pumped his legs, dashing up the spiral staircase. The cacophony of echoing footsteps increased as the group pursuing him grew in number. He dared not risk a glance behind to confirm those suspicions.

"_Um… Castle? Why are you running in circles?_" Vikram asked, confused. He ignored the computer specialist, focusing all his energy on running.

Castle worked on controlling his breaths, ignoring the twinge in his bad knee as he pounded up the stairs. He barely had enough time to enjoy the sweet taste of triumph when he reached the top, immediately plunging into a narrow passageway. Kilmer's thugs were hot on his tail. He twisted his torso around and rotated his broad shoulders as he navigated his way through the tight space. He braced his hands out against a concrete wall, using the inertia to propel him forward, turning to plunge through an arch opening.

Halting he spun around and yanked the iron gate shut, with the hope it would stall the villains long enough for him to increase his lead. The metal hinged creaked, but the gate rattled closed with a satisfying clang. Castle did not even wait to see if it would stop his pursuers, instead he kept his concentration on moving, onward and forward. He pumped his arms and legs as he dashed around the curved walkway, spanning the circumference of the rotunda. He glanced down, seeing that the funeral was still proceeding, though some of the mourners were glancing up as he ran.

Reaching the other side of the span, he spotted another arched opening in the curved wall of the dome, this one had a black placard beside it indicating that it upwards. He figured that was as good a choice as any other, so he took it. Reaching out a hand to steady himself against the jamb, he lowered his shoulders and propelled himself through the opening just as two bullets embedded themselves in the stone. He continued forward, deciding it was best concentrate one where he was going. After two turns up a narrow set of steps, Castle saw daylight.

Blinking he found himself emerging onto the rooftop of St. Paul's Cathedral, the city of London sprawled out below him.

"_Okay, you need to cross the street on your left as soon as you can_," Vikram instructed over the radio.

Glancing back, Castle saw the thugs rushing up the steps. He spun, whipping out the Beretta and sending four shots down the stairway. Two men went down, and the others worked at shoving their injured comrades aside to resume their pursuit. Castle took a quick breath and skipped up onto the stonework, feeling his leg muscles burn as he practically crawled up the roof, flinching as one of the fiends took a few potshots at him, the bullets ricocheting off the slanted roof.

Reaching the crest, Castle dropped down onto his side and slid down until he landed with a soft release of breath against the railing on the opposite side. He was never more grateful for modern day maintenance walkways added to these buildings. He heaved himself up and went on, eyes jumping around as he tried to think of a way to get down.

"_Castle, do you copy?_" came Vikram's worried voice. "_Go left. Go left. Now_."

Breathing heavily, Castle pressed one hand to his ear. "I'm working on it," he shouted.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw that those chasing him had been reduced to a more manageable number. They clambered over the rooftop, following his example. One, however, was a little too eager, rushing up to the crest and barreling down the slope. He miscalculated and his momentum propelled him against the low railing hard, the inertia pulling him over. His panic shout caused another pursuer to halt in a futile attempt to stop him from collapsing over the edge.

Taking aim with his Beretta, Castle fired two shots that had the men ducking down and away. He gritted his teeth, disappointed he'd missed hitting one more, but with one going over the edge, the group was down to four. Jogging away, Castle ignored Vikram's insistent instructions to turn left.

His eyes spotted a work scaffolding linking this portion of the cathedral to another building. Grabbing the railing, he hoisted himself into a turn and darted across the wooded boards. His trajectory now taking him in the direction Vikram had instructed. As he ran, Castle noted that he was rapidly running out of scaffolding and that he would soon run out of the cathedral's rooftop. The pounding of foots behind him kept him going. Lowering his head and squaring his shoulders, he made a dicey decision. Swinging his hips, he picked up speed, skipped up onto the stone pediment, and jumped.

He sailed over the gap between the buildings.

Tucking his body, he rolled as he landed on the rooftop of the adjacent structure. Thankfully, it was flat, and provided him with enough room to ride out his roll. Pushing himself up to his feet, Castle grimaced at the ache in his bad knee, and swiped at the perspiration beading his brow. He wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he was getting too old for this kind of thing.

Jerking his head back, he watched as his pursuers mimicked his actions, but two hesitated in their initial jumps, causing the first to ram his chest against the edge of the other building, and the second to bounce off the first, resulting in both tumbling down to their deaths. That left two pursuers left.

"_All right, now go across the street right in front of you_," Vikram urged.

Castle sucked in a quick breath, and sent four wild shots in the direction of his remaining pursuers as he ducked down behind some statuary. The men returned fire, their bullets bouncing off the stonework. Pursing his lips, Castle spun back around and quickly aimed, taking out one man with two shots to the chest. He spun on the other as the man launched himself at him. Castle pointed and pulled the trigger, but only heard a hollow click.

"Shit!" he cursed, realizing the Beretta was out of ammo. Adjusting his empty gun, he rammed the weapon into his attacker's throat, causing the thug to drop. Fisting his other hand, he struck the man in the solar plexus, and left him dazed and unconscious.

Tossing the empty Beretta, Castle quickly turned around to continue the chase. He scrambled across the rooftop, vaulting over the next gap, landing with more grace on the next roof. His palms scraped against the cement, and he gritted his teeth, breathing through his nose as he plowed on, now the pursuer.

"_Castle, he's getting away from you_," Vikram hissed. "_You're going to have to go faster_."

"Doing my best," he grunted, face dripping with sweat. His shirt stuck to his chest and back like a second skin.

Pounding his feet against the flat surface of the roof, Castle pumped his arms and legs, tapping into his reserves to propel him forward. He jumped over an air duct and swerve around a satellite dish. He grabbed the railing of a maintenance platform, and hauled himself forward. The cold crisp London air blew around him as he flew down the gangplank, passing electronic transformers and meters. His boots clanged against metal grating as he reached the next gap, and he nearly groaned at the distance. Meanwhile, Vikram was still in his ear, telling him to hurry.

Plucking up the courage, Castle ran at full speed, and launched himself off the edge of the building, not daring to look down. He hit the next building over with a hard force, knocking the air from his lungs, nearly slipping down the side before his hand found purchase on a drain pipe. He held on for dear life, kicking his shoes against the smooth concrete side of the building. He gritted his teeth and winced, knowing he'd wake up tomorrow stiff and sore with a massive bruise on his chest.

Heaving himself up and over, Castle collapsed onto his back, half hanging off the edge, letting the cool wind wash over him. He allowed himself the brief respite. He deserved it.

"_Castle!_" came Vikram's insistent voice.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, rolling over onto his side and levering himself up.

His first couple of steps were more like a staggering hobble. Castle shook his leg like a dog, waking it back up. The muscles warmed as blood flowed back into the limb, and Castle breathed in deeply, testing it out as he adjusted himself into a light job.

"_Oh, oh, oh!_" Vikram exclaimed, excitedly. "_You're gaining on him. Go straight_."

Castle grinned and picked up the pace, startled to find a rooftop lounge, where young professionals were sitting out on a small terrace built on the flat roof, sipping espressos and cappuccinos. He spotted the entrance to the office, and he plowed through.

"Straight!?" he asked, blinking as he accustomed himself to being indoors again. "Keep going straight?"

The office drones at their desk stopped what they were doing, turning away from their computers to gape at him, puzzled and mystified at his sudden presence as he kept shouting for confirmation from Vikram. He must look like a crazy person. Castle just kept sprinting through the workstations, ignoring the confused looks flashed his way.

"_Okay, okay… now that's a right_," Vikram said.

"Right?" Castle asked, skidding to a stop and turning. "Now?"

"_Yes, right_," Vikram confirmed.

"Are you sure?" Castle asked, staring at the wide window that looked out across the street at another office building.

"_Yes, I'm_…," Vikram cut off for a moment. "_Oops, yeah. You know what, that's wrong. Left. Go left. Sorry, I must have accidently rotated the map around to keep track of Kilmer and got my directions mixed up_."

Castle breathed heavily as he shook his head and spun around to investigate what that way held. Like the other direction he saw a wide window, but this one looked out onto the covered top of a pedestrian bridge spanning the Thames. Castle flicked his gaze around, looking for a way to open the window. A young woman with a bewildered and alarmed expression jerked up from her seat and Castle's eyes darted to the chair as her actions caused it to roll backwards on its wheels.

Castle looked at her, then at the chair, and then back to her. "Thanks," he said between breaths, before stepping forward and grabbing the back of the chair. The young woman jumped away as he hefted it up and flung it at the window. The glass shattered and the chair disappeared as it plummeted down. Castle stepped up onto the sill, and braced himself, glancing down.

"_What are you waiting for?_" Vikram demanded. "_He's getting_—"

Castle ducked his head back inside. "I'm jumping out a window," he all but shouted, ignoring the stunned and shocked faces of the office workers as they stared at him aghast.

"_What do you mean you're jumping out a wind—Oh, sorry, I had the map in 2D_," Vikram said, apologetically. "_Um… good luck?_"

Castle craned his neck and glanced back at the office, seeing everyone staring at him. One young woman brought her hand to her mouth. A few others were holding up their mobile phones. He almost rolled his eyes at that, but shook his head and turned back around. Staring down, he tried not to let the vertigo get to him. Heaving in a deep breath for courage, Castle then closed his eyes and made the leap, accompanied by the startled gasps and screams from inside.

He tumbled through the air, and then landed with a hard thud on the top of the covered archway of the bridge. Castle hauled himself up to his feet and almost smirked, but then shook his head, and pushed himself onward. He pulled himself up over a cement block, grabbing the bottom rail of a city worker's platform. Clenching his jaw, he yanked himself up, and grappled with the railing as steady himself.

Castle summoned up all remaining fuel in his body to launch himself forward. Sprinting down the center of the covered bridge, he narrowed his eyes, concentrating on getting Kilmer. His heart pounded profoundly beneath his ribcage. This was the closest he'd been to nabbing the son of a bitch in the three months since he'd made a deal with the devil, and the two months since he left Kate behind to join the task force. He had to get him. He just had to.

"_At the end of the bridge, turn left, you've almost got him_," Vikram encouraged, sounding excited. "_You can do this, Castle. You're right on top of him!_"

Crossing the bridge, Castle found a ladder and clambered down it, nearly falling twice in his haste. He kicked out the ladder extension that went the rest of the way to the ground. With his feet firmly on solid ground, Castle jerked into motion, pushing past a startled couple as he drove himself onward. The thrumming blades of a helicopter resounded through the crisp air, and Castle glanced up, spying a black helicopter sailing into view, hovering over the tall standing tower attached to the Tate Modern art gallery.

"_That's it. He's right in front of you. Get him. Get him!_" Vikram practically screamed in his ear.

Castle could see him through the crush of people milling around outside the imposing structure. Kilmer was walking at a casual gate as if he didn't have a care in the world. The fiend glanced back over his shoulder and locked eyes with Castle. A twisted smirk worked its way across his face, before he turned back around and trotted up the building, whipping out a security card and gaining entrance through one of the staff only doors. Castle sucked in a breath and maneuvered his way through the pedestrians and bystanders. Kilmer, in his arrogance, had left the door wide open, allowing Castle entrance.

He burst through, hearing the mechanical buzz and hum of an old service elevator come to life. Shrouded in a sudden darkness, Castle stumbled forward, working with the light at his back coming through the opened door. He saw the metal bars and grates of the ascending elevator as the lift ascended, and he jumped, latching onto the underside of the beast as it rose up the shaft.

Castle jerked his head up, swinging with the movement, his arm muscles straining with the effort as he held on. He stared up with the metal lattice work and saw with horror Raymond Kilmer staring right back at him with a thin smile.

"Ray," Castle greeted in a casual manner as if they were just two old friends meeting after a long time.

Kilmer shook his head and reached inside his jacket, producing a pistol with a silencer attached to its barrel, which he cocked into the ready position and aimed down at Castle. They held each other's gazes for a long moment. Eventually, Kilmer blinked, and relaxed his grip on the weapon, pulling it back.

"You can't do it, can you?" Castle questioned, almost tauntingly. "You need me to challenge you, to be your opposite."

Kilmer narrowed his evil eyes as he glared down at Castle. "You have fun chasing after me like a lost puppy, Castle?" he asked, voice oddly detached while menacing at the same time. His tone always held a strange sort of juxtaposition of emotions or lack thereof. It was the oddest thing. "Bet you make your father proud."

Castle just glared back at him, trying not to let the taunts get to him.

"Though," Kilmer continued, with barely the hint of amusement in his stone-cold voice. "Today's another story. Isn't it, Castle? Led you on quite the chase, didn't I? And for what? To fail. Bet that really makes daddy proud. Eh? Hmm."

Squinting in displeasure, Kilmer pursed his lips and scowled when Castle didn't rise to the bait.

"Well," he hissed out through gritted teeth, "at least you'll find some inspiration from it for those silly stories you write for that bitch cop of yours."

"Perhaps," Castle replied back cheekily, foolishly engaging, but he couldn't help himself. Kilmer knew just what buttons to push. "I could always use a killer ending."

His adversary chuckled, tinged with the edge of insanity, a sound so unsettling. "You sure she's still yours, Castle?" he asked, mockingly as he holstered his weapon. "What has it been… two months? Longer? When was the last time you tasted her flesh, sampled her flower?"

Castle gritted his teeth, trying not to bite at such obvious bait.

Kilmer shook his head and grinned. "Too long," he answered for him. "You're missing out, my friend. Missing so much. While you've been away playing at being hero, she's been busy," he asserted, retrieving something from his inside pocket. It was a photograph. Kilmer looked down at it and his wicked grin grew wider. Crouching, he placed it, face down, atop the metal grating so that Castle could see the image. And there she was, in living color, dressed in a form fitting black dress, grinning and rolling her eyes, arms wrapped around a man with blond hair as they danced at a fancy party.

"No," he grunted, refusing to believe it. "She wouldn't."

Kilmer pursed his lips, his eyes twinkling wickedly. "Oh, she would," he retorted back. "You left, Castle. Abandoned her. She's been so lonely, and in need of companionship. Don't worry, my friend, my buddy, old pal… I've seen to it. Put my best man to the task. He was already in the city on business, not mine, but… related, and he welcomed the extra pay, especially when it involved a little fun. He's quite good. I'm sure by now he's managed to get past her defenses and bed her. Imagine that, Castle: Your lovely lady detective spreading her legs like a common whore, begging to be fucked, and not by you, the man who abandoned her, left her alone in her time of need." He grinned and stood back up, leaving the photo there to haunt Castle. "Just think about it."

The elevator came to a halting jerk, and stopped. Kilmer ignored Castle as he continued to swing from the underbelly of the lift's cage, distracted by the photo of Kate Beckett laughing and dancing with another man. The fiend pressed the descent button before disembarking the wired compartment and stepped out into the metal grating of a landing that gave him access to a ladder to the top of the tower.

Kilmer paused and arched his neck to look back down at Castle, and repeated, with a mischievous wink, "Just think about it."

And then he was climbing up the ladder and disappearing.

Castle closed his eyes and tried to wash away the images planted in his mind by Kilmer. Kate wouldn't do that. She would never betray him like that. They were in love, and yes, him being away was a strain, but their relationship was stronger than that. It was.

The electric hum and buzz of the lift's mechanism snapped him back to the present, and Castle swung his legs out, trying to build momentum to carry himself across to the metal framework surrounding the elevator shaft. He moved like a chimpanzee to the closest side of the wired tunnel and flattened his body against the metal bars as the elevator descended past him, heading back for the ground floor. Swinging up and over, Castle hauled himself up and around until he reached the landing Kilmer had stepped out on.

Jaw clenched, Castle grappled with the ladder's handholds, ignoring the ache in his chest at the guilt Kilmer's taunts had brought to the surface. Could he really blame Kate if she found comfort in another while he'd all but abandoned her? Mind muddled with such thoughts, Castle moved slowly up the rings of the ladder. He shoved the top hatch open, grunting with the effort, and stumbled up, climbing out in the blistering cold air.

He was too late.

Kilmer was sitting in the black helicopter, the rear cabin's backdoor opened so that he could stare back at him as the aircraft pulled away from the roof, hovering in the air. Kilmer waved at him, grinning triumphantly, before leaning back and sliding the backdoor shut. Castle stood there, chest heaving, the defeat washing over him as he watched the helicopter disappear into the distance.

"_Castle? What happened?_" Vikram asked.

Sighing, Castle scrubbed a hand down his face and lifted his hand to his ear. "He got away." And then, after along sigh of defeat, he removed the earbud, wanting some privacy.

After a moment of self-pity, Castle worked up the energy to move. He climbed back down the ladder into the interior shaft of the tower and pressed the button to recall the elevator. He hung his head, closing his eyes as he inhaled a deep breath, trying not to think about the terrible possibilities Kilmer's taunts had awaken in his mind. It was part of the writer's curse, having such a vivid imagination. He'd always been able to continue, for the most part, but she was his weakness, and Kilmer knew just how to exploit it.

The photo was still there when the elevator returned, mocking him, and Castle stooped down to retrieve it. He turned it over in his hands as the lift descended, lips pursed as he fought with the struggling emotions warring inside him. He hated seeing Beckett smiling and rolling her eyes, pressed close to another man as they danced together at some fancy get together. That should be him holding her close, him making her laugh and rolling her eyes. Yet the longer he stared at the damn thing, the more something about it felt off, nagging at him from a portion of his brain that was stifled by the green-eyed monster seething in his wounded heart. With great struggle, Castle pulled his eyes away from the beautiful face of the woman he loved, and actually looked at the man she was dancing with in the image.

His eyebrows knitted together. He looked oddly familiar.

A second later those connections snapped together in his befuddled brain, and Castle let out a choked sob. "Oh God," he breathed, dropping one hand as he fumbled about his pockets for his phone.

He needed to call her, warn her. Danberg had been right. His friend's suspicions now confirmed by Kilmer's taunts. Kate Beckett was in danger. He flipped open the archaic looking phone and a breath he had not been aware he was holding in released. Right there on the screen sat a text messaged, time-stamped over ten minutes ago, was waiting for him. And it was from her. From Kate Beckett.

It read: _I love you_.

Castle smiled. The petty jealousy that the photo had stirred up inside him immediately dissipated, replaced with a calm warmth of affection and love. He had no reason to doubt or question her fidelity. Kate Beckett had too much integrity for that. He felt foolish for even giving in to such a base emotion. A moment later, the concern for her safety flared back up, raging like a burning inferno.

Sweat beading down the back of his neck, Castle punched the buttons on the phone, entering in a number he had long since committed to memory.

"_Castle?_" came her wondrous voice.

"Kate… thank God," he exclaimed, carding his fingers through his hair. "Where are you?"

"_Um…_," she sounded miffed. "_Yeah, Rick, good to hear your voice too_."

"Kate… please?"

He heard her sigh. "_In the break room, why?_"

"Are you alone?" he demanded.

"_Yes_," he could hear the frown in her voice. "_Castle, what's wrong?_"

Castle heaved in a deep breath, "It's a long story, Kate. I'm just going to need you to trust me and listen."

"_Okay_," Kate answered without hesitation. "_I'm listening_."


	12. Chapter 11

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 11**_

* * *

"She'll do it," McCord said as she entered the conference room, closing the door behind her. "She knows it, I know it. We all know it. Just give her some time to realize that, and we'll be in business."

Captain Fowler nodded thoughtfully, gazing down at the blueprints laid out on the table. "Good," he said. "She's the only one that matches up with Elena Markov, and from what I've gleamed from her record, she has considerable experience with undercover work from her time in Vice."

McCord inclined her head, and signaled her partner. Hendricks joined her at the table. She stuck her hand in her pocket and produced a handful of dollar bills. "Go to the café down the block and get us some real coffee," she said, not bothering to keep her voice quiet. "The stuff they have in the breakroom is awful."

Hendricks nodded, not even flinching at being handed an assistant or rookie's assignment. He pocketed the cash and ducked out the room. Gates jerked her head up from where she was seated at the table, reading through reports, and narrowed her eyes, but remained silent. She did not look happy. The other two ignored her discontentment.

He didn't blame her.

Agent Martin Danberg leaned against the wall, watching as McCord and Captain Fowler resumed their preparation for the undercover assignment that was being foisted upon Detective Beckett as if it were a sure thing. He shared Captain Gates's misgivings about the hasty arrangement between the Attorney General's Task Force and the NYPD's Narcotics Division.

There were other ways to crack open a drug ring then sending a seasoned homicide detective undercover. Such an exercise hardly warranted his involvement either. But the name Lazarus had popped up in some of the intel regarding the Consortium's rumored leadership, the Board, and Director York wanted someone he trusted to observe the joint Justice Department-NYPD operation and expedite all information gathered from the investigation to the Bunker and the task force being headed by Agent Jackson Hunt.

However, Danberg found his mind wandering back to his conversation with Castle about the man from the BOLO sketch Beckett's team had issued the other day. They had discussed the possibility that the man might be an operative for the Consortium, that he was sent to spy on the detective, discover whether or not she was investigating Bracken. But, a new thought had suddenly occurred to Danberg. What if this had nothing to do with the corrupt senator? This drug ring business involved a possible Consortium member, codenamed Lazarus. It was possible that this operative was sent in to infiltrate the NYPD and watch for any investigation into the target.

He was ripped away from his ruminations when the door burst open and a determined Detective Kate Beckett appeared, holding up her phone. All heads turned in her direction. Her eyes flew across the room until they landed on him.

"Well, that was quicker than I expect—"

Beckett ignored Agent McCord and stalked straight towards Danberg.

"We have a problem," she said.

"Detective?" Gates questioned, face set in stern disapproval. "Explain yourself."

Jerking around, Beckett dismissed her commanding officer with a curt wave of her hand. "There's a mole here," she announced. "Working for Kilmer." She paused, and Danberg could tell from how she pursed her lips that she was holding back more. He knew immediately that Castle had told her about their conversation and worries.

Damn him. Danberg had been hoping to gather intel on the down low while piggybacking onto the drug ring investigation.

"The Vice President's assassin? Why would he have a mole here?" Fowler asked, looking completely lost.

McCord, however, had been read in on Ray Kilmer, having at one time been tasked with tracking down Johann Kriedt, one of Kilmer's associates, now deceased, thought to be the work of the Consortium, and she stared at the detective with a thoughtful expression.

"Where are you getting this?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow and placing her hands on her hips. "Wait, let me guess… your boyfriend."

Beckett rolled her eyes, clearly growing tired with McCord's disdain for Agent Castle. Danberg suppressed a smirk as he watched the two women stare each other down. It was an intriguing standoff; one he knew his good friend would be disappointed he missed. The air snapped and crackled with the tension. Captain Fowler remained utterly confused, shaking his head as his eyes bounced back and forth between the pair. Gates, seeming to sense that sensitive information needed to be disclosed between the two Federal agents and her detective, walked around the table and placed a reassuring hand on Fowler's arm, gaining his attention.

"Dean, let's go to my office," Gates suggested. "We need to make some calls, coordinate personnel for the operation."

"Um… yes," he nodded, finally registering the tension in the room.

Meanwhile, Kate Beckett and Rachel McCord stayed locked in their stare down as the two NYPD captains vacated the conference room. Danberg took a step forward once the door closed, and cleared his throat.

"How much did Castle tell you?" he requested, keeping his attention on his friend's girlfriend.

She seemed reluctant to pull her gaze away from McCord, a stubborn unwillingness to surrender, a quality Danberg knew Castle found both irritating and appealing. But eventually, with a soft sigh of resignation, she complied with courtesy and turned to face Danberg.

"Enough," she asserted, keeping her answer vague.

On purpose, he supposed. Danberg scrubbed a hand down his face, and glanced towards McCord, before returning his focus on Beckett. "I told him not to tell you," he admitted. "All I had was mild suspicion and a theory. Nothing concrete. Not really. And it was personal."

"Oh, he mentioned that, yes," Beckett acknowledged with a brief nod. "But Castle got confirmation on those suspicions from Kilmer's own lips." She gritted her teeth, anger flashing in her eyes. "The bastard taunted him with a photo taken last night."

"Of what?" McCord inquired.

"Me," Beckett all but snarled, shifting back to McCord. "Dancing with Colin Hunt."

"And who is Colin Hunt?" Danberg asked, brow wrinkling as he exchanged a baffled look with Agent McCord, before swinging his gaze back to the agitated detective.

"Kilmer's inside man."

XXX

"What the hell happened?"

All the noise ceased, the low hum of conversations, the click-clack of fingers on keyboards stopped the moment he stepped into the room. Heads turned away from monitors, and anxious, curious eyes stared out at him. National Clandestine Director Samson York wasn't a particularly imposing figure, about average when it came to height, but he had the gravitas and aura of authority befitting his high station within the hierarchy of the CIA. He strolled down the center aisle, eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he surveyed the faces of the analysts and computer specialists manning the operations center in the Bunker.

"Ah, so you've been informed?" Jackson Hunt asked, perfunctory, when York stepped up to join the senior agent in charge on the command platform in front of the central computer terminals.

"I was pulled out of a meeting with the Director," York answered with a grim set to his jaw. "This doesn't look good. Reynolds is considering pulling the plug on the entire operation." He sighed, removing a cloth from his breast pocket as he took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses. "How did this happen?"

The stoic façade cracked on the legendary CIA operative, if just a smidgen, showing frustration and anger. "We're still working on that, sir," he all but barked, adding the 'sir' at the end almost as an afterthought, glaring out at the rows of computer stations and consoles. Soon the room was abuzz with activity once again as the analysts got back to work. Sighing, Hunt turned back to his superior. "We lost a man. Logan Hoyt."

"Shit," York smoothed a hand over his bald crown. "This was supposed to be an observe and report mission. What happened?"

"Bad intel," Hunt said with a gruff grunt, resuming his calm countenance. "That's what happened. Kovaks wasn't meeting with his MI6 counterpart within. And it appears the Consortium has a farther reach than we've previously speculated."

"Yes," York rubbed his goatee covered chin, thoughtful, as he stared at the large screens mounted on the wall, displaying the UK governmental ID of the now deceased Rhys Pearce. "Foreign Secretary Pearce. I had dinner with him and his wife once at a diplomatic function in Madrid. Alice was a lovely woman, but Sir Pearce always had a quality to him I disliked, an intensity that was a little unnerving. Still, I thought he was a good man. He led the charge for a lot of charities and initiatives that were beneficial to not just the British commonwealth but to all the peoples of the world."

"All bad men think they're the hero of their story," Hunt asserted, eyes narrowing to slits as he stared at the photo of Sir Rhys Pearce on the central screen. He blinked once and then turned to glance back at York, a hard look in his eyes. "It's what makes them so dangerous."

York shifted and gazed out at the other monitors depicting the aftermath of the incident in London. Several dead, some injured. MI6's CSU technicians were still working the scene in the underground chamber and around St. Paul's Cathedral. PR teams were working hard to conceal all sensitive and top secret information from the press. Thankfully MI6 hadn't kicked the CIA's people out, and were still willing to work with them, no doubt because their Foreign Minister had been revealed to be part of a secret cabal.

The video feed showed Agent Preston being loaded into the back of an ambulance, accompanied by two other agents. Another screen showed Agent Rick Castle conversing with computer specialist Vikram Singh, both standing next to a white van in the alleyway alongside the building where it had all gone down. He couldn't help but notice that Castle appeared more agitated than he normally would be after a failed operation. York had trained Castle well, and it was rare for the agent to be so rattled, even when something as unexpected as this happened.

"Kilmer got away, did he?" he asked, dragging his eyes from the screen.

"Unfortunately, yes," Hunt acknowledged. "Agent Castle chased him through the streets—or rather over the rooftops—of London, but failed to stop him." A tone of displeasure colored his report.

York would never understand the man's attitude towards his son. There was no sense of pride or familial affection at all. Rick Castle was simply an asset to Jackson Hunt. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was disheartening, but not all too shocking, knowing the legendary CIA operative as well as he did.

Jackson Hunt firmly believed in the notion that attachments bred weakness and distraction in a field operative. It was why the man disapproved of his son's relationship with Detective Kate Beckett. He was so blinded by his belief that he failed to see how much Castle benefited from the support and foundation of love and trust he gained from Kate Beckett. For his part, York approved. From what he'd seen, the woman made Castle happy, something that had been sorely lacking in the younger man's life. It was just a pity that Castle's father couldn't see that.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Jackson Hunt was simply Rick Castle's biological father. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Agent Castle did his best, I'm sure," York defended the man who was more like a son to him than the man's own father. He glanced at Jackson Hunt and pursed his lips. "He's a good agent, Jackson. It's not his fault that this happened. As you said, we had bad intel. Kilmer's been one step ahead of us this whole time."

Hunt let out a snort of agitation, a rare display of emotion from him. "And now he's cut us off from our only lead into the Consortium. The Director will not be pleased."

York hummed in agreement. "Let me deal with the Director, old friend," he assured, already formulating in his mind how he'll convince Director Reynolds to continue Operation Mongoose after this latest blunder.

"As you will," grunted Hunt.

York shifted, gazing around the operations center at all the cubicle drones working at the computer consoles, typing away and analyzing countless streams of data as it flowed into the Bunker through the miles and miles of fiber optic cables that connected them to the outside world. He folded his hands behind his back and looked back at the older agent.

"That 'our only lead' bit, well, that might not be entirely accurate," he announced in a tentative voice. "Just before I arrived, I got a call from Agent Danberg. We may have another thread to pull on soon."

"Care to elaborate?" Hunt raised an eyebrow, obviously intrigued by the enigmatic comment.

York shifted, gesturing for him to follow. The two men stepped down off the command platform and walked to a more secluded part of the operations center. "We may have stumbled into another Consortium scheme. I had Danberg in New York working with the Justice Department on a joint task force looking into a new drug ring."

"Why would we care about a drug cartel?" Hunt asked in an affronted manner, as if the very thing was beneath them.

York suppressed a groan. Jackson Hunt was awfully superior sometimes. It's what came from being one of the few covert operatives to reach his age and still be alive. Many of Hunt's compatriots from when he'd joined the Agency were either deceased or retired.

"Lazarus," York explained. "He's been linked to this particular drug ring. We think the Consortium might have been using it to launder money. But that's another thing. This new information is in regards to a murder Detective Beckett is investigating."

"Her again," the senior operative almost rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised."

"She's very good at her job," York said. "If it wasn't for a request from your son I would have tried to recruit her."

Hunt merely remained silent.

York shrugged at the man's indifference. "Anyway, a young British national—Naomi Allen, I believe—was killed. And circumstances matched up with the death of an MI6 operative, Ana Cavendish."

"Wait a moment," Hunt squinted. "Agent Danberg was here the other day speaking with Agent Castle. Is this that same thing?"

"Yes, I believe it is," York nodded. "It appears Danberg's instincts were sound. During his escape, Kilmer left a photograph behind, intending to taunt Castle, implying Detective Beckett was with another man."

"And the man in the photo is the same one Agent Danberg suspected killed Cavendish," Hunt finished.

York smiled, pleased to see his friend was still as sharp as ever. "Precisely. And get this… he goes by the name Colin Hunt."

Hunt grunted. "It's a common enough name, most likely an alias."

"Yeah," York nodded with a grin. "You're probably right about that, Llewelyn."

Hunt pressed his lips into a thin line and gave him a baleful look. York just grinned wider and held up his hands in apology, stifling a laugh.

"I'm sorry, my friend, I couldn't resist," he said. "Honestly, Jackson, you make it so easy. You really do need to lighten up. Your son has a marvelous sense of humor." He feigned thought. "He must get it from his mother."

"Perhaps," Hunt acknowledged with a slight incline of his head, signaling he was done with the conversation and would speak no more on the topic. Jackson Hunt had always been tight lipped when Martha Rodgers was referenced. He could never tell exactly what the man's feelings on the matter were. Hunt was an expert at concealing his emotions. "Either way," the senior agent went on, "this Colin Hunt must have a real name."

"Yes, yes," York said. "I've already tasked Danberg and his team to investigate. Now, however, while he apprehends this imposter and begins a preliminary interrogation, I need a complete debrief on the situation in London. I want to go into my meeting with the Director fully prepared."

XXX

"Perhaps we're looking at it all wrong," Colin Hunt suggested, leaning back comfortably in Beckett's desk chair, gesturing casually towards the white board.

Ryan and Esposito were hovering close by, the former flipping through files in a folder, while the latter was staring with hard eyes at the Detective Inspector. Good for him. Beckett was appalled at the man's casual manner while he sat at her desk, fiddling with her things. It made her feel violated, dirty. There was only one man allowed to touch her stuff, and he wasn't here.

"How you mean?" Esposito asked, giving the man a pointed look.

It either went right over his head, or he just chose to ignore it. "It's all about the numbers," Hunt elaborated. "I just feel it in my gut, you know, mate."

"No, I don't… _mate_," there was a bite to Esposito's voice that caught Hunt's attention.

The Brit smiled affably, and stood up, sauntering up to the murder board. He tapped at the numbers written in Beckett's distinct crisp hand. "Whatever these numbers mean, I guarantee they'll lead us back to Nigel Wyndham. The man's bloody rotten, up to his eyeballs in this."

"You might be on to something," Ryan picked up, glancing up from the folder he'd been examining. "I expanded the search parameters, and I think I've just caught something."

"Do tell?" Hunt's eyes alighted with excitement at the potential lead.

"Well, I figured since this case involves a foreign consulate, I'd check to see if this format of numbers matches up with anything in that regard," Ryan explained. "Turns out I was on the right track. These numbers, in this format, are used for diplomatic pouches."

Hunt snapped his fingers. "Right on, mate," he declared, giving Ryan a celebratory slap on the back. "As the Deputy General Nigel Wyndham signs for all diplomatic pouches."

"So then maybe this wasn't about an affair gone wrong between Nigel and Naomi," Esposito latched onto the postulation, adding his own conjecture.

Nodding, the Detective Inspector went back to the board and tapped Nigel Wyndham's photo. "It's about smuggling."

Beckett held back in the shadows, tucked around the corner, watching as the fiend continued to play at theory building with her colleagues. Her stomach twisted with revulsion that she'd been flattered, albeit briefly, by his attention. She shuddered, remembering how closely they'd dance together at the Consulate party, how he'd coaxed a laugh and eye roll out of her. That was probably the moment the hidden photographer had snapped the picture that was then used to taunt Castle. It was becoming clearer to her what Kilmer's plan had been. He was hoping to drive a wedge between his adversaries, make them doubt one another. Well, he'd made a mistake there, underestimating how much they loved and trusted each other. It was something a psychopath like Ray Kilmer could never understand.

Now they knew he had someone planted in the Twelfth Precinct.

Danberg emerged from the conference room and joined her, pocketing his phone. She flashed him an expectant look. The only reason she'd held back from hauling Hunt's sorry ass into interrogation was because Danberg had requested it.

"Well?" she asked.

"Director York has given me authorization to take him into custody," Danberg informed her. "I then called my team and had Riley run a check on Detective Inspector Colin Hunt."

"And?" she raised her eyebrow, impatient.

Danberg leaned back and cocked his head as he regarded her. "You really are tenacious," he commented. "I see why Castle likes you."

"Yeah, well the feeling is more than mutual," Beckett replied with a small grin, then turned and crossed her arms. "What did Agent Riley find out?" If they were going to unmask the intruder, she wanted to go in fully armed, with all the facts.

"There is a Colin Hunt at Scotland Yard," Danberg confirmed. "But he's in his early fifties, balding, and has a paunch. From all accounts, a desk rider."

"In other words, the complete opposite of this guy," Beckett hooked her thumb over her shoulder towards the imposter.

"Yep," Danberg nodded. "Definitely not the same guy."

"So who the hell did Gates speak with when she called to confirm his credentials?" Beckett questioned, nose wrinkling.

"Now that we know what we were looking for, we found out that the call was intercepted before it connected with Scotland Yard, bumped to a dummy account somewhere in Eastern Europe," Danberg said with a mild shrug. "We do it all the time to protect the legends of our covert operatives. With the resources and connections Kilmer has, it probably wasn't that difficult for them." He shifted, arched his neck to look out at the bullpen. "You ready?"

Beckett narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. "Yes."

"Then let's take him down," Danberg said.

Swinging around the corner, Beckett marched across the bullpen to join the three at the white board while Danberg hung back, letting her take point. Esposito saw her coming first, a frown marring his features as he noticed her steely countenance. He followed her gaze towards Hunt, and narrowed his eyes.

"Hey boys," she greeted, bringing a halt to their speculations.

Hunt turned around and smiled smoothly, going for the charm. "Kate, nice of you to join us. We missed your… input."

"Any updates?" she asked, glancing around at them before looking up at the board. They wanted to catch Hunt off guard, so the plan was she'd play it as if nothing was wrong until Danberg's people were in place.

"Ah, none as yet," Hunt said before either of the others could speak. He sidled up closer to her. He made a great show of checking his wristwatch. "We could use a break. How about an early lunch, Detective? Care to get a bite with me? I've been dying to try an American cheeseburger. Any suggestions?"

Beckett pursed her lips and flicked her eyes up at him. "What about Naomi? Aren't you dying to find out who killed her?"

"Oh, of course," he insisted, playing for sincerity. "It's all I can think about." He frowned when he noticed the way she was staring at him, but he kept going, doubling down on the lies. "She was like a kid sister to me. It's eating me up what happened to her. She was so young, so full of promise and potential." Yesterday, she would have bought this act. Not today. Now she saw through his lies. "But, one does need to refuel every once and a while, Detective," he added with an easy smile. "Why not do it together, eh?"

She waited for a beat, then struck. "Sorry, I'll have to decline."

His shoulders tensed at her tone, and his eyes jerked up over her shoulder, noticing Agent Martin Danberg approaching. His gaze snapped back to her and she could see it, written all over his face. He knew she knew. The game was up.

"Oh, bollocks," he groaned.

He turned, fast as a whip, shoving Ryan aside. The younger man staggered, files went flying into the air as he tripped. Beckett moved, catching him before he could face plant on the floorboards. Glancing up, she watched Hunt use the distraction to make a break for it, but Esposito, who had been silently observing her body language, had read the situation correctly, and was lying in wait. He clocked the escaping Hunt right in the jaw with a solid right punch, sending the man fumbling back and into the waiting arms of the two agents Danberg had called in from his CIA team stationed at the New York Federal Building.

The commotion brought Captain Gates bursting out of her office, Captain Fowler trailing behind. She glanced around at the chaos now erupting in the bullpen as everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. Colin Hunt was struggling futilely as the CIA officers wearing FBI windbreakers clapped him in cuffs.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Gates shouted, demanding an explanation, glaring at Esposito, who was rubbing his right hand, and then over at Beckett, who was still helping Ryan regain his balance.

Danberg stepped forward, holding up a hand to calm the fuming NYPD captain. "The apprehension of a foreign agent," he announced, producing warrants and documents to back up his authority to take Hunt into custody. Beckett was amazed at the speed he'd acquired those. It usually took her hours, sometimes even a day to get a warrant. Though, she had to wonder if they were forged documents, just like the FBI badge Danberg wore on his belt.

"A foreign agent!?" Gates echoed, eyes wide. "You mean a spy?" She shook her head, scowling in displeasure. "Agent Danberg, this is highly irregular."

Beckett took that as her cue. "Sir, I assure you that there is no mistake in this," she asserted.

Gates snapped her attention towards Beckett, and she almost wilted under her commanding officer's glare. "Does this have something to do with that phone call from Mr. Castle?" Gates questioned.

"Yes, sir," Beckett inclined her head after a moment's hesitation, glancing around at the rest of the bullpen, most of the other officers and detectives trying hard to pretend they weren't watching with rapt attention.

A shocked expression consumed Captain Gates, the likes of which Beckett had never seen on her commanding officer. Her mouth fell ajar and she gaped at the cursing man as he struggled against his captors. And as soon as it appeared, it was gone in a flash. Gates snapped back to her usual commanding and imposing presence. She straightened her shoulders.

"Agent Danberg," she said, in a formal manner. "Would you please get this imposter out of my bullpen?"

"With pleasure," Danberg said, inclining his head in a little bow. He signaled his men, and the CIA officers disguised as FBI agents dragged Colin Hunt away, hauling him towards the closest available interrogation room. Danberg exchanged a look with Beckett, before stalking off after them.

"What are you all looking at!?" Gates shouted at the bullpen. "Back to work. The show's over."

With the fear of 'Iron Gates' in them, everyone immediately jumped back to their assignments and cases.

"Detective, a word," Gates called before Beckett could join Danberg.

Beckett winced, and maneuvered around Esposito and a stunned Ryan, until she was standing in front of her captain, expecting some sort of reprimand. "Sir?"

"I don't know what the hell is going on here, and frankly, I don't expect I ever will," Gates said in a quieter voice, visibly vexed. Gates wasn't stupid. Beckett knew that her captain suspected there was more going on than she was being led to believe. And being left out in the dark displeased her greatly. "But when the dust settles," she continued after a sigh of resignation, "you owe me an explanation, Detective."

A tight smile touched Beckett's lips and she bobbed her head, knowing this was the closest she could get of any sort of approval from her captain. "Yes, sir."

Gates nodded, satisfied, then spun on her heels and stalked back to her office. Fowler, looking utterly baffled, followed at a slower pace. Beckett released a sigh of relief and turned back around to face her shell-shocked colleagues.

"Yo, Beckett, what's going on?" Esposito asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She held up both hands as a form of apology. "I can't really say too much," she answered slowly. "But, we've been played for fools by one of Kilmer's operatives."

"No shit," Esposito exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up as his eyes darted in the direction of the interrogation room.

Ryan furrowed his brow and stared at her with large, confused eyes. "Wait? Are you telling us that Hunt works for Maddox—er—I mean, Kilmer? Does Castle know?"

Beckett hooked her hands into her pockets, bouncing on the soles of her feet, eager to join Danberg in the interrogation room, but she knew she owed the boys at least a brief explanation. "That's how we found out. Kilmer gave him up to taunt Castle with a misleading photo of Hunt and I at the Consulate party."

Esposito whistled. "Damn, he played his cards wrong, then."

"Oh?" she met her colleagues bemused eyes.

"You don't have it in you, Beckett."

"Huh?" Poor Ryan was still baffled. He scratched his head and glanced at his partner. "I don't get it?"

Esposito rolled his eyes and punched Ryan's shoulder with a friendly tap. "As if Beckett would ever cheat on Castle. The two are crazy for one another. Anyone with eyes can see that. Hell, even a blind man could see that."

"Oh," Ryan said, though he still looked confused.

Beckett rocked back on her heels, uncomfortable with her personal life being discussed so openly amongst her colleagues. "Anyways, this might be the break in the case we've been looking for."

"You thinking Hunt's our guy?" Esposito asked, gesturing towards the white board.

She shrugged. "He was our first suspect," she reasoned. "His DNA was at the crime scene, and the victim's apartment. Witness ID has him fleeing the scene. Everything he's told us has to be taken with a grain of salt now. We can't trust any of it."

"Yeah, okay, I get that," Esposito rolled his shoulders, not entirely convinced. "Nigel Wyndham's still pretty sleazy, though. If he's not involved in Naomi Allen's murder, he has to be into something else that's just as bad. There has to be a reason Naomi was sniffing around him."

Beckett rubbed her chin, and nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps," she tentatively agreed. "It's worth a look." She shifted, glancing towards the interrogation room, itching to be in there where she could break Hunt, get some answers.

Sensing her wandering thoughts, Esposito cleared his throat, and puffed out his chest. "We've got this," he asserted. "You get in there and nail that bastard's ass."

She grinned. "Thanks, Espo, I owe you one." Beckett offered her colleagues a grateful look, before jogging across the bullpen to join the interview in progress.

Esposito chuckled and hollered after her. "Don't you forget it!"

XXX

It took a solid two hours of grueling interrogation, switching off with Agent Danberg like a wrestling tag team, playing bad cop and badder cop, but eventually the son of a bitch cracked. Using his CIA resources, Danberg had fast tracked the collected evidence in the case through one of the CIA's forensic labs. Hunt's DNA and fingerprints were all over the crime scene, and Naomi's place. Not really a surprise, as they already knew that, but now they had the hard evidence to back it up. And tied in with the witness statements and sketch artist's facial composites, they had him.

"Bloody hell, this ain't worth all the money," Hunt snarled and yanked at the chains linking his wrists to the table. "I want a deal, you hear? And protection."

"You're afraid," Beckett noted.

"Damn right I'm afraid," Hunt shot back. "The Knave… you know him, Detective. He never forgets. Never forgives."

"Kilmer sold you out," Danberg interjected, slapping a hand down on the table so hard that it actually made Beckett jerk along with Hunt. "For what? Nothing. Just to taunt his personal nemesis. And it backfired."

"Fucking hell it did, you don't have to tell me!" Hunt let out a dark laugh, tugging at the chains again. "The man scares me. He's bat shit crazy. But this… it's unprofessional is what it is."

"Are you really that surprised?" Beckett questioned, disbelieving.

"In retrospect, no," Hunt admitted after a brief pause to consider. "It was just a side job; a little extra cash is all. It was supposed to be easy."

"What was the plan?" Danberg pushed.

Hunt leaned back in his chair, as far as the chain linked to his wrists would allow, and shook his head. "Nah, nah. No," he announced. "I want a deal. In writing."

"Look, Colin, or whatever your name is," Beckett said, narrowing in on him with a fierce glare that had been known to make the toughest of street thugs quake in terror. "We have you on the murder of Naomi Allen, impersonating a police officer, obstruction of justice, interfering in a police investigation—shall I go on?"

He just glowered at her.

"Right," she nodded. "You're not getting a deal. You messed up, pal. Trusted the wrong guy. Now it's time to confess your sins."

Danberg picked up her thread. "Tell us what you know, and perhaps—_perhaps_, mind you—I'll see what I can do about getting you put in segregated population instead of G Pop."

Hunt harrumphed. "Yeah, right. You're not FBI. You're a CIA suit. There's no way I'm ever seeing the inside of a legitimate prison and we all know that."

"If you cooperate with us, maybe you can," Danberg offered.

Hunt narrowed his eyes. "Can I get that in writing?"

She almost scoffed at the man's gall.

"All I can give is my word," Danberg answered. "What you've got to decide is if that's enough." He paused, glanced at Beckett, before slowly rotating his gaze back to Hunt. "It's either that, or we'll end this nice interview right now, and my buddies and I will take you to a black site where we can get started on a more _enhanced_ interrogation. But, hey, it's up to you."

Beckett pursed her lips and suppressed the frown that started to form across her brow. She was all for tough questioning, but _enhanced_ interrogation—code for torture—at a CIA black site seemed a little excessive, and also amoral. She wasn't naïve. She knew what was done, legal and otherwise, within the aegis of the CIA's national security mandate. And she was willing to do a lot of things to achieve justice, but Beckett wasn't sure she was ready to cross that line. Yes, she knew she wouldn't be the one doing it, but she would be aware it was happening, making her complicit in the act. And that was something she could not abide. She was about to pick up on that when Hunt spoke.

"I'll talk," he blurted out, eyes wide. "No need for that. I'll talk."

Suppressing a smirk, Beckett leaned forward on her elbows. "Then talk."

"As I said, it was just a side job, some extra cash," he reiterated, flicking anxious eyes back and forth between them. "I was already in the area, working another job—"

"You mean murdering Naomi," Beckett interjected.

Hunt pursed his lips and stared at her for a long beat. "Just another job," he said, so cold and detached that it infuriated her. She wanted to punch him in the face and shatter his nose.

"Ana Cavendish?" Danberg inserted before Beckett could continue her questioning. "Was she 'just another job'?"

Hunt's eyes snapped to Danberg and a faint smile worked its way onto his lips. "Cavendish, yeah," he purred. "I remember her. Yeah. Blonde. Lots of leg. Great tits." He paused, eyes sparkling with mirth at Danberg's barely restrained fury. "Yeah. I did her too."

"Why?" Beckett took back control of the conversation, putting a hand on Danberg's arm in an attempt to reign in his rage. "You get some sick thrill out of killing women?"

Hunt lazily turned his attention back to her, the smirk morphing into his the dazzling smile that he thought was so damn charming. "It's just a job, Kate. I'm what you might call an outside contractor."

"You mean a hitman."

"Whatever," he shrugged. "I'm freelance, don't owe my allegiance to anyone but me. Just the money. They pay me well; I do the job. And I'm very good at my job. Personally, I like women. They like me. Your friend liked me. She liked me very much last night. Gave her the best night of her life; her words." He cocked his head and met her eyes. "I'd have given you the same, was supposed to, actually—that's what the job called for; a perk, a little bonus, he called it—but you weren't as receptive as I was led to believe. You were supposed to be lonely. And you were. I could see it. But not lonely enough. Not desperate enough for a good shag." He paused, and smirked. "Unlike your friend."

"Shut it," she growled, spearing him with a hard glare while suppressing the urge to launch herself across the table and punch the smug grin off his face.

Hunt laughed. "You want some reason, don't you, Detective, for why I killed those women? Why I killed Naomi?" he asked. He jerked his head towards Danberg. "Ask your CIA pal. He knows. At least partly. Not the true motivation, but the overall picture. You see, don't you, Detective. It's always about the big picture. Never about the little people. They get lost in the shuffle when larger events come into play." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter, really, does it, Kate? It's above your pay grade."

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared at him. "Try me."

Hunt licked his lips. "The story I told you about Naomi and the doctor killed in Africa… all true," he said, talking fast. "It's his death that started all this. She started to stick her nose into business that wasn't hers. She got too close, so she needed to be eliminated. I was hired for the job. After I took it, the Knave—Ray fucking Kilmer—calls me and offers me some extra cash. He wanted you distracted, off-balanced. And perhaps you are. Not in the way that was intended, for sure, but still… a successful mission."

"Why? Why did he need me distracted?"

"His reasons are his own, I didn't ask," Hunt said with a shrug.

"Why point us to Nigel Wyndham? Was that part of the job?" she questioned.

He shook his head. "Inserting myself into your investigation was part of the original job," he claimed. "Not Kilmer. He just wanted you distracted… wanted photographic evidence of you in a compromising position. It was supposed to be between the sheets, but I had to make do with our little dance at the party. Why? Again, I don't know. His reasons are his own." He frowned. "It was them. They set up my cover. Good enough for a cursory look, but dig too deep…" He left the rest unsaid, as if it was obvious.

"Who?" Beckett demanded. "Who is 'them'?"

Hunching his shoulders, Hunt placed his elbows on the table and inched forward. "Tell me, Kate," he said in that damn smooth voice of his that she had found so charming when they first met, a fact that now made her sick with guilt and self-reproach for not having seen through his lies and deceptions. "Have you ever heard of a group that calls itself the Consortium?"

Danberg abruptly stood up. "That's enough for now," he announced. He cocked his head and looked down at her. "Detective Beckett, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave, for… national security reasons."

Her mouth dropped and she stared up at Agent Danberg, the shock written all over her face that he was actually playing the national security card. She had thought he'd be like Castle, trusting her with important information. But she was wrong. Danberg was more of a Company man than her boyfriend. But to his credit, he did appear apologetic, at least somewhat. As she stood to leave, glaring hard at Danberg with both disappointment and betrayal written all over her face, Colin Hunt leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

"Told you, Kate. Above your pay grade," he crooned, smirking, then offered her a salacious wink. "Perhaps next time, eh?"


	13. Chapter 12

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 12**_

* * *

She lingered in the hallway outside the interrogation room, pacing back and forth, fuming. This was why she hated working with Federal agents. They couldn't share. Rationally, she knew Danberg was only doing his job, keeping her from hearing about top secret information that she wasn't cleared to know. Still, it pissed her off. Folding her arms under her breasts, she huffed out an annoyed breath, and continued to pace.

"What's with the pout?"

Beckett turned, startled to find Lanie Parish standing at the corner, leaning against the wall. She released a breath and relaxed her arms, letting them fall down to her sides.

"Agent Danberg kicked me out," she explained, hooking a thumb towards the interrogation room.

"Yeah," Lanie nodded, uncharacteristically subdued. "News about Colin Hunt made it through the grapevine."

Beckett suddenly realized how her friend must feel. Her chest tightened. She felt terrible. With the rapid speed that everything had unraveled and happened, she had totally forgotten about her friend. "Oh, God. Lanie, I'm sorry," she said, instinctively reaching out to comfort.

Lanie held up a hand and offered a tight smile. "Kevin told me," she revealed. "Javi and I aren't exactly speaking at the moment, for obvious reasons. I don't think he handled our break up well."

"Does he know…?"

"About Colin and I?" Lanie finished, and then shook her head. "I don't think so. And he doesn't need to. It's none of his business, anyways."

Beckett inclined her head, actually agreeing with that. She didn't want to think of what Esposito's reaction might be if he learned that Lanie had slept with the Scotland Yard imposter. She pursed her lips and swallowed, glancing at her friend with a sympathetic look.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I'm okay, sweetie," Lanie offered. "It was a bit of a shock. But, yeah, it is what it is." She shrugged her shoulders, clearly not knowing what else that could be said.

Beckett stood there, bereft of any ideas on how to console her friend. It was an unusual situation. From her earlier statements this morning, Lanie had enjoyed her night with the phony detective inspector. It was probably hard to separate that 'fun' from the reality of who he really was.

Gazing at her friend, hesitant, Beckett cleared her throat and asked, "Knowing what you know now, do you regret it?"

Knitting her eyebrows together, Lanie mulled over the question. "Perhaps, maybe," she said, but then smiled in that mischievous way that was pure Lanie Parish. "Still, it was some of the best sex I've ever had. So, I don't know. It's hard to say. It was what it was. A onetime thing. A fling. Never meant to be more. And I had fun, lots of fun, and that's really all that usually matters to me, but…"

"It's different now," Beckett filled in when her friend trailed off.

"Yeah, I guess," Lanie relented, frowning, still not certain on that. "He was still amazing in the sack, but now I… I don't know… feel dirty? Like I was used." She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't think he would have killed me, Kate, if that's what you are thinking. Yeah, he's probably a murderer, but his role here, at least from the gossip I'm hearing, was as a spy. So, yeah. When he came to see me last night—and fucked me senseless, might I add—he was just using me. Probably to get information on the investigation. And honestly, I'm okay with that. We both got what we wanted."

"If you say so," Beckett blinked, amazed how Lanie was handling the whole situation.

"He wanted you," Lanie asserted.

"I know," she replied. "He made no secret of that. Last night he asked me out for drinks, and I knew he was hoping for more. But I turned him down."

Lanie nodded. "Yeah, I thought so. Since you wouldn't bite, he sought me out."

"I'm sorry?" Beckett was unsure what to say.

"Don't be," Lanie said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Look Kate, I was wrong to push you, poke and tease. You got a good thing going with Castle. I should be supportive. Not encouraging you to fool around while he's away. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She offered her a watery smile. "I'm just glad you didn't take my advice. Though, honestly, I know you never would. That's not the kind of person you are. You're a better person than me. And Castle's been good for you. He's perfect, actually. The way he makes you smile, even when he's not around, that's something special. And the way you talk about him. You just brighten, have this glow about you. I've never seen you so happy. And he's the reason for that. He makes you happy." She closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for encouraging you to do something that would mess that up. I'm… Kate, I'm just so sorry. I've been a terrible friend. It'll never happen again. Promise."

Beckett swallowed, stifling the swell of emotions that rushed her system at her friend's sincere apology. Unable to find the words, she grabbed Lanie's hands and squeezed, meeting her gaze with expressive eyes, letting those do the work for her of accepting the apology.

Lanie nodded, grateful for the absolution.

"Well, if someone had to sleep with that hunky bastard, I'm glad it was me," she laughed and her eyes started to sparkle again. "Kind of makes it more thrilling, actually, knowing he was a bad guy."

Beckett stifled an eye roll. "Lanie…"

She held up her hands. "All right, just saying."

"All joking aside, you okay?" Beckett asked, soft and sincere, staring into her friend's eyes.

"Yeah, Kate, I'm good," Lanie said. "Just… now that we know the truth, nail the bastard."

Beckett flashed her teeth, matching her friend's own fierce grin.

"I'll do my best, but the Feds might take it out of our hands," she explained.

Lanie threw up her hands in a dramatic gesture. "What can you do?" she submitted with a smile. "Anyways, I'm gonna head back down to the morgue now. I just… needed to talk to you."

"I get it, Lanie," Beckett stepped forward and offered her a quick hug. "You amaze me. I don't think I'd be handling the situation as well as you if our positions were reversed."

Lanie laughed as they parted, shaking her head and grinning widely. "Yeah, well, when you spend all day cutting up bodies, you gotta develop an iron stomach." She squeezed Beckett's arms. "I'll get out of your hair."

"Lanie," Beckett scoffed. "You're my best friend. You're never a bother."

Her friend cocked her head and gave her a pointed look. Beckett bit her lower lip and ducked her head, stifling a grin.

"Okay," she surrendered. "Maybe sometimes."

"You bet your skinny ass, sweetie," Lanie tossed back as she retreated towards the elevator with a wave. "See you later."

"Later," Beckett called after her.

She stood there and watched her friend step into the lift when it arrived and disappear when the doors closed. That was an odd conversation, she thought. But apparently it was what Lanie had needed, to say it out loud and acknowledge the truth. And it was nice to hear Lanie admit she was wrong to push her to have 'fun' while Castle was away, and accept Beckett's relationship with the spy as something real and special. At least something good came out of all this mess.

The interrogation room door opened and Beckett spun around to see Agent Danberg stepping out, looking prepared for battle. Damn right he should.

"What the hell was that?" Beckett demanded, rounding on him with the fiercest glare she could muster, feeling the combined emotions of frustration and anger well up inside her. The dam was breaking, bit by bit, with all the hits, and she didn't know how much longer she could hold it all in.

"As much as I hate to agree with him, Colin Hunt was right," Danberg said, not flinching away from the confrontation. "While your involvement in past incidents allows you to be aware of certain details, there are still some things that you aren't cleared to know."

Beckett crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive manner. She wanted to argue, dispute his claims with every ounce of her being, but deep down she knew he was right. Still, she didn't like it.

"Castle would tell me," she mumbled under her breath, yet still loud enough for Danberg to hear.

A soft smile touched his lips and he nodded. "Yes, perhaps he would," he agreed. "Castle's a great agent, and I respect his choices, but I'm afraid I do understand why the Agency has misgiving about his relationship with you."

She set her jaw, reigniting her glare, fiercely protective of her man.

"I don't think he's compromised like some of the upper management," he went on, holding up a hand to appease her. "But he is… _conflicted_ when it comes to you."

Danberg let that settle for a second.

"He trusts you, and I trust him," he said in a reassuring tone. "He's one of the few people in this world I actually consider a friend. And that's a rare thing in this line of work. And as I said, I respect him and his choices, but I'm still a Company man. As he is. I may respect his decisions, Detective, but it doesn't always mean I agree with them."

"Fine, yeah, I get it," she tossed back, relaxing her posture and carding her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face and tucking some loose strands behind an ear. "But what about you, Agent Danberg?"

"I don't follow," his brow wrinkled, playing dumb. Considering his profession, it was almost laughable how transparent he was.

"Ana Cavendish," she repeated the name she'd heard him say during the interrogation. "Who is she to you?"

Beckett watched as he pursed his lips into a thin line and swallowed. His eyes went sad and forlorn. He averted his gaze, going distant for a while.

"She was…," he stalled, voice becoming thick with emotion. "She was someone important to me."

"She was like you and Castle, right? In the game?" she questioned, the indignation in her fading as she watched the play of emotions over his face. Danberg was usually so calm and collected.

"Yes," he admitted after a long beat. "She was MI6. She was killed eight months ago while on assignment in Europe. The methods matched. Strangulation."

"He did it, didn't he? Just like he killed Naomi," she gathered, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized his body language. "You knew. Before Castle's call, before I told you. You knew he did it."

"I… suspected," Danberg answered, tentative. "I wasn't sure. When the BOLO with the sketch of his face went out the other night, I recognized it. I had Riley run a facial recognition search, off the books."

"And?"

"The only thing that popped in the search was a similar sketch from witness statements in Ana's murder file," Danberg explained. He paused, and sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And there was CCTV footage from JFK of him disembarking from a plane. The timing matched up with Naomi Allen's murder. But being in the same city wasn't enough. At best, all he could be was a person of interest. It wasn't until your call from Castle that we had confirmation." And then he added, with no small sense of satisfaction. "And a confession."

Beckett knitted her eyebrows together as she absorbed the information. She paced a little, giving herself time. "Is that why you came here, inserting yourself in McCord's team?"

"No," Danberg answered hesitantly, but eventually continued with, "I'm here on Company business."

Beckett knew the only reason he confirmed that was because she already knew he worked for the CIA, and because of everything they'd been through during the past year.

"The CIA isn't supposed to operate on U.S. soil," she stated, even though she knew the truth.

He gave her a bemused expression. "We both know the Agency sees that more as a suggestion. The security of the United States is our mandate, and we take that very seriously."

"Lazarus," Beckett announced after a brief lull in the conversation. "You're here because of Lazarus." Her eyes narrowed. "Does this have something to do with what Hunt mentioned back in there? This group called 'The Consortium'?"

"That's classified, Detective," Danberg said, knowing he was confirming her hunch.

"Castle would tell me," she repeated her earlier refrain, and it pulled a bemused smile from his lips. Beckett waited for the moment to pass, before turning serious again. "Why didn't you tell me about Hunt when you arrived?"

"As I said, I wasn't certain he was even involved," Danberg said. "Being in the vicinity of a murder does not make someone guilty. You know that better than anyone, Detective. This job, it makes us suspicious by nature, and sometimes, I'll admit, a bit paranoid. I didn't have any hard evidence. It was all just circumstantial. And, I didn't know he was actually here, working the case, no less, with your team. That surprised me, I'll admit."  
Beckett let out a hollow laugh. "At least you weren't fooled by him," she said, averting her gaze, still ashamed she'd failed to read the fiend correctly.

"To be honest," Danberg continued with his explanation, "when I saw that BOLO, it just brought all those feelings I'd bottled up after Ana died to the surface. It reminded me how much I needed answers, need closure." He eyed her knowingly. "That's something I think you can understand, Detective."

"Yes," she inclined her head, feeling her heart clench with the reminder that the man responsible for her mother's murder was still out there, free from justice. "I do."

Danberg shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted on his feet. "Yeah," he sighed.

They shared a companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Beckett was the one to break it.

"CIA is going to take him, right?" she questioned, having already figured that out the moment Colin Hunt had mentioned the mysterious organization that she was determined to prod Castle for information on at the earliest opportunity.

Danberg had the decency to look apologetic. "Yes," he confirmed. "He'll answer for Naomi's murder, Detective. I promise you that. But first we need him to talk. He's been in the enemy's camp, and we need to learn what he knows."

She ducked her head down, angry about it, but resigned to the inevitability. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath, searching for what acceptance she could that some form of justice would be had. Not satisfied at all, Beckett still acquiesced to the reality of the situation.

Glancing back up at Agent Martin Danberg, Beckett inclined her head, and offered her own form of assurance. "He'll answer for Ana Cavendish's murder, too."

A small, sad smile touched his lips. Danberg bowed his head in gratitude, acknowledging not just her kind words, but also her reluctant acceptance of the CIA exerting their authority over the prisoner. "Thank you, Detective."

They shared a solemn moment, and Beckett felt she understood why Danberg and the man she loved were friends. It made sense. They both had that same sense of duty and honor.

"Detective Beckett!"

Beckett spun around to see Agent Rachel McCord stalking towards her, a relentless determination to her stride. Captain Gates was walking behind her, looking irritated, but more reserved.

"I've indulged this long enough," she declared. "Agent Danberg and your team can handle the rest." The Federal agent tapped her watch, clearly impatient. "We have roughly four hours left to prepare for the Op. You have a briefing to review before you go under."

Gates cut in, flashing a look of reproach at McCord. "You don't have to do this, Detective Beckett," she said. "This isn't an order."

"I know, sir," Beckett acknowledged. She'd almost forgotten about her unexpected and recent new assignment of going undercover to unmask the leadership of a drug ring. "But I'm willing. I know how important the operation is, and I'd like to do my part to help."

Gates held up a hand, locking eyes with her. "Only if you're sure, Detective," she pushed. "It's risky and dangerous. I don't want you doing this because you feel pressured."

"I'm aware of that, sir," Beckett said, shifting her stance to back up the conviction of her words.

"Very well," Gates said with a nod. It was difficult to determine whether she approved or not.

Beckett nodded, and turned to McCord. "I'll be right there."

"Well, shake a leg, Beckett," McCord called as she marched back across the bullpen. "We're on the clock."

Beckett turned back to face the CIA officer, extending her hand, offering an olive branch. He smiled and accepted, shaking her hand.

"Don't take it easy on him," she asserted, jerking her chin towards the interrogation room. "He doesn't deserve it."

Danberg chuckled. "We won't, trust me."

"I do," she answered, honestly. "I know Castle trusts you. And I trust him."

He inclined his head. "And good luck to you, Detective Beckett," he said, growing grave and serious. "Don't let your guard down. I have suspicions you'll be walking into the belly of the beast."

Beckett pursed her lips and considered. "Perhaps, yes," she agreed. "Guess I'll have to rely on Agent McCord to have my back."

Danberg hummed in agreement. After saying a final goodbye, Beckett turned and took a step forward, letting the weight of the Naomi Allen case fall away, allowing the burden of finding justice fall to that of the CIA. It wasn't the sort of resolution she would have liked, but it would have to do. She'd have Detective Esposito and Ryan continue the case, see what more there was to it. Because her gut was telling her there was more. Colin Hunt, or whatever his real name was, wasn't some serial killer. He was a hitman, an operative for some mysterious organization that she wasn't cleared to know about. Yet. Until Castle told her. Because he would tell her. But until then, she needed to push all of that into the backburner, and focus on this new undercover assignment.

XXX

The backdoor of the helicopter slid open with a clunk, barely audible over the motors up above. He slipped out, ducking his head under the rotating blades as he marched across the landing platform with a small retinue following in his wake, the satisfied smirk still plastered over his face. Poised and confident, he climbed down the short steps, his boots clanging on the metal walkway as he navigated the path to the rooftop access. One of his men opened the door for him, and Kilmer entered the building, striding down a small flight of stairs, exiting on the top floor, where a command post had been set up in what had once been an office space filled with cubicles and worker drones.

He stepped over the power cords and Ethernet lines that were secured to the floor and organized with black electrical tape. Two card tables were arranged in the center of the open space with heavy duty laptops and other important hardware. A flat screen monitor was mounted on a wheeled cart in the center of the makeshift assembly. Despite the infrastructure and sources of his newly acquired organization that had once been headed by Johann Kriedt, Ray Kilmer wasn't a man for permanence. A nomadic life fit him best. So was his leadership style.

"Welcome back, sir," a man of Eastern European roots greeted him with a nod. "I assume your mission was a success?"

"It was, yes," Kilmer said, answering the nod with one of his own. "Phase one is complete. We'll begin phase two shortly."

He turned, narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the data scrolling down on the laptop screens. A disheveled teenager with the beginnings of a thin wispy beard sat at one of the card tables, hunched over a laptop, his long spindly fingers tapping away on the attached keyboard. The card table was littered with used soda cans and crumpled up candy wrappers. The teen was currently snacking from a large bag of XXTRA Flamin' Hot Crunchy Cheetos.

Kilmer stepped over and picked the bag up, selecting three red colored Cheetos out and popping them into his mouth, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as the hot flavor came in contact with the taste buds on his tongue. He chewed, slow and methodical. The young man glanced up with large dark eyes.

"Your status, Sébastien?" Kilmer demanded, after he swallowed.

"I'm enjoying the challenge, Monsieur Kilmer," the nerdy teen announced in a thick French accent. "Though some of the layers of encryption have been more difficult."

Kilmer squinted in displeasure. "Meaning?"

The computer geek gulped nervously. "Not all the passcodes provided were up to date," he asserted, then quickly added, "No problem for me. I shall break through the final layers within the next few hours. Guarantee."

Pursing his lips, Kilmer let out a slow breath through his nose, placing the bag back down on the table. "Very well," he nodded, masking his anger. It wasn't the kid's fault that some of the codes he'd acquired from Gavin Huxley were now obsolete. It was to be expected. He should have anticipated it. "Keep at it, Sébastien."

The teen bobbed his head and spun back around, hurriedly resuming his work. Kilmer turned to the supervisor.

"Notify me the moment he breaks through the final firewall," he ordered.

"Right."

Kilmer nodded, turned back around and stalked towards the bank of elevators. A man with brownish gray hair and Croatian heritage rushed to join him. Rajko Kápa had served as Johann Kriedt's second-in-command, and now was Kilmer's top lieutenant. The man had no qualms about serving a new master. Despite having been part of the old regime, Kilmer had no doubts over Rajko's loyalty. Out of all of Kriedt's former associates, the man had been the first to join him, and had been by his side ever since he'd assumed leadership.

"Sir, Lazarus called while you were in the air," he began, before trailing off, a worried expression working its way across his normally hardened features.

"And?" Kilmer growled. He did not like to be kept waiting.

"Uh… he was displeased with you exposing the New York asset at this time, sir," Rajko recounted the call. "Lazarus would be filing a complaint with the Board."

Kilmer let out a sharp laugh. "Let him," he said, and then added in a low grumble, "Cowardly bastard."

Still anxious, Rajko followed Kilmer to the elevators. "You're not concerned?"

"No," Kilmer chuckled, darkly. "Lazarus only thinks he's important, when in fact he's just another pawn in the game. Easily replaced if he falls. Our prize is of a higher nature. Besides, the Consortium has more than one asset on the ground. In the end, it makes no difference."

Rajko only nodded. They all knew what it was their boss was after. Revenge. It wasn't profitable for any of them, but Kilmer, and the reputation he'd built up as the Knave, terrified them enough not to challenge his command and authority.

"What next, sir?"

Kilmer checked his watch. "Ready the jet," he said in a flat tone that revealed nothing. "Bring the pilots and Huxley. We're headed for New York."

XXX

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"_Fine_," she answered on a sigh, not very convincing.

"You sure?" he asked, concerned, easily picturing her skulking in the breakroom at the Twelfth Precinct, brooding over a cup of vile swill that masqueraded as coffee. Her eyebrows would be knitted together and her nose would be wrinkled adorably. And even with that oppressive atmosphere hanging over her, Kate Beckett would still be gorgeous. She was always stunning in his eyes. But perhaps that was because he loved her.

She scoffed on the other end. "_Fuck it_," he heard her mumbled under her breath with that fierceness he found so incredibly attractive. "_All right, I'm pissed_," she answered. "_I know he's your friend, Castle. And I understand it, even sympathize with him about what the prick did to Ana Cavendish… but shit, I really wanted to interrogate the son-of-a-bitch. He killed Naomi Allen on my turf. She was mine, Castle. Mine. It was my job to stand for her, get her justice, and all the while her killer was right in front of me. And I didn't see it_."

"I get it, Kate, I do," Castle assured. Yes, he understood her feelings.

"_How could you?_" Kate all but snapped, incredulous.

He wished he could see her at that moment, all indignant fury, hot and bothered. Yeah. She'd be hot. Always was. He was overwhelmed by it. Her fierceness. Her hotness. All of it. All of her. Always would be, really. But he was stuck at the US Embassy in London, having just finished being debriefed by the CIA station head, and she was all the way across on the other side of the Atlantic in New York City, gearing up for an undercover operation that Narcotics and the Justice Department had foisted upon her.

"Sophia Turner," he reminded her, proud that his voice hadn't cracked with the tumultuous emotions the memory of her still managed to conjure up.

"_Shit… yeah, sorry_," she breathed out. "_I like to forget she ever existed_."

That made him chuckle. "Not me," he disagreed.

"_Hey!_" she all but snarled, though the playful lilt in her voice belayed any real wrath. "_Stop thinking of old flames, pal. You're mine_."

Oh, he liked the punch of possessiveness in her voice. "You'll have no argument from me on that score," Castle assured. "No, actually, I was thinking more how if I hadn't uncovered the fact Sophia was a rogue agent, I would never have secreted Alexis out of that CIA facility or absconded with Spyglass. All those series of events led me to you. And that is something I would never change. Ever."

There was a long beat before she answered. "_Ditto_," Kate replied in a soft tone, full of affection and longing. She sighed. "_I miss you, Castle. When do you think you can come home?_"

"I don't know," he said, genuinely not sure when his full debriefing would be finished. The whole thing had turned into a clusterfuck, as it always did when Kilmer was involved, and Castle had been made aware by Director York that the upper echelons within the Agency were demanding an inquiry, not to mention the SSCI (Senate Select Committee on Intelligence) and the President. Castle scrubbed a hand down his face. It was all too much to think about. "Soon, I hope."

"_Me too_," she agreed. "_We need some time. Alone. Just the two of us. You and me_." She sighed again, sad and lonely, and his heart ached at the sound. "_I miss you_," she repeated. "_God, Castle, I never thought I could feel this way about another person, but I do. And it sucks. It really sucks_."

"Yes, it does," he offered a sad chuckle.

"_This is all your fault, jackass_," she grumbled, and it made him laugh all the more.

"I love you, sweet cheeks."

"_I love you, babe_," she echoed, and he could hear the watery smile in her voice.

"Be safe on this undercover operation," he said, brow furrowing as he thought about the mission details she'd relayed to him over the phone earlier in their conversation. "I'm not there to keep an eye on your amazing backside."

"_Yeah, I do have a pretty nice ass, don't I?_" It was her turn to chuckle now. "_Shoe's on the other foot now, Castle_," Kate said, and laughed at his discomfort, and the humor he'd used to mask it. "_Now you know how I feel when you disappear for weeks—nay, months—on 'assignment'_."

"That's different," he objected. "I've been trained—"

"_Are you insinuating that your training is superior to mine?_" she questioned, the tone of her voice making it clear she was messing with him, and damn… did the woman know just how to play him like a fiddle. She lowered her voice, making it all sultry and suggestive. "_I'll have you know, stud, I did undercover work all the time when I was in Vice_."

"Vice, you say?" his interest was piqued, his overactive imagination already starting to run away with wild ideas.

Kate hummed in response. "_Did all kinds of stuff_."

"Like… um… what sort of stuff?" he asked, shifting uneasily, feeling like a teenage boy trying to coax his girlfriend into having phone sex. Damn it. Why did there have to be an ocean between them.

"_Well, babe, until you get back home_, _you'll just have to use that overactive imagination of yours_."

"I have a pretty good imagination," was his retort.

"_That you do, Castle, that you do_," she clucked her tongue. There was a pause, and he could barely make out a familiar stern voice calling her name. "_Sorry. McCord's calling. One hour until show time_."

He sighed. "Right. Just be careful, Kate. Please."

"_I will_," she answered, confident. "_Come home soon, Castle_."

"I'll do my best," he assured her. He missed her too, with a burning passion. What Kate had said earlier, about never feeling this way about another person before was true for him as well. Castle had been in love before, at least what he'd perceived as love at the time, but all those times in past paled in comparison to what he felt for Kate Beckett. This assignment with the task force had kept him away far too long. "I promise," he added on impulse, knowing it was foolish to make such a commitment when he didn't know if his superiors would grant him any time off.

"_I'll hold you to it_," Kate said, the hint of pleading in her voice barely detectable. "_Okay… ugh… I gotta go now. I love you_."

"Love you back," he said.

And then she was gone.

Castle leaned back in the armchair, flipping his phone shut. He sighed, his heart aching, longing to be with the woman he loved. He closed his eyes, attempting to pull up a mental picture of her beautiful smile. But another appeared. The image of her and Colin Hunt dancing was seared into his retina. He hated how it made him feel, that he even felt it in the first place. There was no one he trusted more than Kate Beckett. But he couldn't stop it, couldn't help but feel that rage and worry inside him. Maybe, he was loathed to admit, it was because he'd betrayed her. Not in the sense that he had been unfaithful. Never that. Never. But he had gone behind her back and struck a deal to keep her safe, a deal that had forced him to put obstacles up to prevent her from further investigating Bracken.

Opening his eyes, Castle frowned deeply, confused and uncertain. Yet there was more. There was another feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he couldn't quite put a name to yet. Uncertainty? Fear? Worry? Whatever it was, it told him that he needed to get back to New York as soon as humanly possible.

Glancing down at his phone, he furrowed his brow in thought.

"Hell."

He flipped the phone open and dialed a number.

"_Sir?_"

"Hey, Vikram, I'm gonna need your help."

XXX

Kate Beckett strolled down East 45th Street, dressed casually with a red scarf around her neck. It felt ridiculous, especially considering the unseasonable warm temperatures at the start of this autumn. Summer was lingering, and Beckett could feel a layer of sweat start to coat her wrapped up throat. She shifted her gait, blending in with the pedestrians on sidewalk as she headed towards the Roosevelt Hotel.

She recalled Agent McCord's words after a quick review of the plan and her final briefing with the Justice Department agent and Captain Fowler from Narcotics.

"Remember, Beckett, don't move like a cop. You're Elena," McCord had said. "You're intimidated by these guys. They've been leveraging you for two months. So, ease off on that fierce glare of yours. You know the one I'm talking about."

The two of them had exchanged a knowing look before the briefing continued.

"There will be five plainclothes officers in the lobby," Fowler had then picked up the summary. "And more throughout the hotel." The head of Narcotics had then showed her the departmental identification photos of all those officers, so that she would be able to recognized them if she required assistance at any point during the operation.

"Head to the north elevator and go to the eleventh floor," McCord had then resumed. "The meet is in room 1123. Undercover officers up there will have your back. Stay calm. Memorize names and faces of whomever you meet and you'll be out in no time."

Beckett knew how quickly an operation could turn south. She did her best to repress the nerves fluttering in her stomach as she caught sight of the hotel's entrance up ahead. Despite all her bravado, Beckett had to admit, at least to herself, that she was nervous. Yes, she'd worked undercover during her time in Vice, but that had been several years ago. It had been a long while since she'd actually done any real undercover work. Bluffing a suspect was one thing, this was something entirely different. The closest she'd come recently to this kind of thing had been when she first met Castle, and it wasn't nearly as involved as this.

Shaking her head, she got herself back in the game. It was just like riding a bike, she told herself. Striding towards the hotel entrance, Beckett couldn't help but be on guard. It was a lot harder to suppress her cop instincts than she'd thought it would be.

A door man dressed in an uniform that made him look like some character out of a Victorian classic, top hat included, offered her an amiable smile and opened the front door for her. She pursed her lip and returned the polite gesture, shifting slightly as she stepped through the threshold and into the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel.

Through the foyer, Beckett allowed her gaze to roam over the other people. Some looked her direction, others minded their own business. She observed each one, suspicious. A businessman in a suit and tie, a lanyard around his neck, walked past her, heading out while she was heading in. They locked eyes for brief moment, but then it passed, and he continued on his way. She spotted one of the plainclothes officers. He glanced casually towards her as she strolled by, letting his gaze sweep over her.

Her eyes jerked up, taking in the high ceiling and the impressive crystal chandelier suspended in the center. The lobby proper was filled with the hush murmur of conversations from those seated in the lounge area. A bellhop wheeled a cart laden with matched luggage, halting her path as he guided the heavy burden through the center of the lobby. Beckett used the opportunity to settle down all the lingering butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a quick breath, falling back on her training and all her years of experience. Locking things down, she found her calm within seconds, and was ready.

Now collected, Beckett sidestepped around the bellboy and his burden as she continued on through the opulent lobby. She relaxed her shoulders and adjusted her stance to look less confident, giving off an air of uncertainty, even a little bit of fear, as Elena Markov would have felt if she were actually here instead of her. Crossing over the fancy rug with the elegant 'R' embroidered in the middle, Beckett bypassed the front desk, and cutting right, headed for the north side bank of elevators.

Letting out one last breath from her bottled up nerves, feeling her heart finally start to calm into a standard steady beat, Beckett reached over and punched the call button.

She didn't have to wait long.

Almost immediately the elevator chime signaled and the doors rattled open. Inside was a sandy haired man in a generic suit with an equally generic red tie. A name tag above his left breast pocket identified him as Chris, one of the hotel's concierges. He smiled, and held out his hand to stop the doors from closing.

"Hello," he greeted.

Beckett offered a weak smile and ducked her head as she stepped into the elevator box. "Hi." She shuffled into the back corner.

"Which floor?" he inquired, glancing back at her.

She let out a sigh. "Eleven," she answered, mustering up another small smile.

"Okay," the man replied, turning back around and pressing the button for the eleventh floor.

The elevator doors rattled closed and silence fell in the lift as it started to move. Beckett licked her lips and ducked her head down, allowing the curtain of her hair to shield her face as she used the opportunity of the elevator ride as one last moment to compose herself for the task facing her in room 1123. However, when she glanced back up, the sandy haired man in the concierge jacket was holding a gun in her face. She swallowed and flicked her eyes up to his face.

He narrowed his eyes, and spoke in a low, threatening tone that brokered no argument.

"Don't move a muscle."


	14. Chapter 13

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 13**_

* * *

"Sir, I'm not sure about this," Vikram exclaimed as he trailed after Castle, having just cleared the security checkpoint with minimal ease.

"Relax, Vikram," Castle said with a casual wave of his hand as he strolled into the international terminal at London Heathrow Airport, head ducked down as he stared at the small screen on his flip phone. Despite being a bundle of anxious energy, he walked in a calm and relaxed manner.

His companion, however, was a little too jumpy. Castle was surprised the computer specialist hadn't been pulled aside for further screening.

Shaking his head, he ignored the rambling misgivings of his younger associate and led the way to the arrivals and departures board. He sent a quick text message to Kate, letting her know he was on his way back home. Flipping the phone shut, he stowed it away. Taking out his ticket and boarding pass from his breast pocket, Castle double-checked the flight number with the corresponding information on the large screens mounted on the wall. Craning his neck, he spotted the relevant details.

"Gate 7," he announced, glancing back over his shoulder and gesturing towards the other man. "Boarding begins in ten minutes. This way."

And then he took off. He was used to airports, the hustle and bustle, and easily navigated his way through the maze of terminals, shops, and restaurants. Castle moved with the deft skill of a trained field operative, smooth and efficient. Vikram Singh, however, was no field agent. The younger man had spent all his career behind a desk, in front of computer terminal, in some dark room or another. He looked like a fish out of water, and Castle did his best to keep the man with him.

"What if we get caught?" Vikram stammered out as they walked into the waiting area around Gate 7 just as the attendant began her boarding announcement. "Surely the Agency knows by now that we've flown the coop. What if they'd put us on a watch list?"

Castle patted his shoulder affably, and smiled with a slightly cocky grin. "Don't worry, my friend," he reassured. "We've made it this far. Besides, I don't think they'd expect us to fly commercial. It's too obvious."

"Really?" he puffed, looking dubious. "Back in Ops that's the first place we'd check when an operative has gone rogue."

"We haven't gone rogue," Castle asserted in a low hiss. "And keep your voice down, we don't want to attract attention."

"Sorry," the man bobbed his head, appropriately contrite.

Castle felt sorry for him. While he hadn't forced the computer specialist to assist him in escaping London, so to speak, he was using him, playing on Vikram's awe of Castle's years of experience in the field and reputation within the Agency. He pursed his lips and patted the man's shoulder again, attempting to reassure him.

"Don't worry, Vikram," he said. "I do this sort of thing all the time. Worst that's ever come of it was a severe tongue lashing from Director York. And seeing as this is your first offense, and that I talked you into it, you'd probably get off with a slap on the wrist. Nothing to worry about."

Vikram raised his eyebrows, staring at him as if he didn't know whether he was joking or not.

Grinning, Castle winked. "We'll be fine. Just follow my lead," he said as he stepped forward and offered the clerk his boarding pass. _Eight hours_, he thought. Discounting for any delays, in eight hours he'd be back in New York, ready to stand by Kate's side when the brewing storm finally struck.

XXX

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Kate Beckett sat on the floor of the cargo section of a small truck, leaning against the left side of the compartment, hands bound behind her back in zip ties. Her heart pounded fiercely under her ribcage. The small scar along her side throbbed with each beat. The bullet sized pucker mark between her breasts pulled sharply when she twisted her torso, rotating her shoulders and straining her arms as she tried to free herself from her bonds.

Closing her eyes, Beckett heaved in several deep breaths, attempting to calm the rising tide of panic flaring in the center of her chest. This was not supposed to happen. In everything she was told by both Agent Rachel McCord and Captain Dean Fowler nothing hinted that the drug crew would change things up, abduct her at gun point. But that was what had happened. She had no idea if her cover had been blown, or if these thugs were just being overly cautious.

Relaxing her muscles, Beckett surrendered. The zip ties were too tight. There was no way she was going to free herself before her abductor returned. Castle would probably know how to escape from these bonds. He had done something similar last May when Ray Kilmer had zip tied them. Back then he'd made use of a loose screw lying on the floor of a half-disassembled apartment bathroom, weakening the plastic bindings enough that he could snap the zip ties and free his hands. As she glanced about the interior of the cargo compartment, Beckett didn't see anything that could help.

Licking her lips, she tilted her head down and to the left. The FBI techs had planted a bug on the left lapel of her coat, disguising it as a button.

"This is Detective Kate Beckett. If you can hear me, I've been abducted," she murmured in a low voice, quiet enough that she wouldn't be overheard by her capturers, but still audible to the hidden microphone, and to those she prayed were listening on the other side. "I'm in a white cube van, New York plates. We've been traveling about…" her brow furrowed as she did a quick calculation in her head, "Twenty minutes." She sighed. "We've been making a lot of turns, but I think we're headed east." Her lips tugged upwards ever so slightly as she added, "Oh, and Agent McCord, if you can hear me, this is seriously ruining my evening plans."

XXX

Detective Javier Esposito sat on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest, as he watched men in FBI windbreakers paraded a handcuffed and chained Colin Hunt out of the interrogation room and towards the elevator. Agent Martin Danberg was leading the way, face blank, stoic. The prisoner glanced up as he shuffled passed and locked eyes with Esposito. A knowing smirked touched his lips. Esposito frowned, and watched the agents shove him into the opened elevator.

"Crazy, right?" Ryan asked from his desk, craning his neck around his computer monitor, his attention shifting back and forth between the procession and his partner. "I would never have guessed he was the killer."

Esposito scowled and glared at the elevator doors. "Some detectives we are," he grumbled.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up, Javi," Ryan said, shaking his head. "Even Beckett didn't notice."

Grunting in acknowledgement, Esposito arched his neck to look back at his partner. "She would have," he asserted. "If she hadn't been distracted."

"Distracted, how so?" Ryan asked, brow furrowed.

"Hunt—or whatever his name—was flirting with her," Esposito pointed out. "And strictly speaking, he's a nice-looking guy. You know, generally, from the female perspective." He puffed out his chest in a way to assert his masculinity.

Ryan smirked and rolled his eyes. "I get it, Javi, no need to get all macho. You know you can acknowledge another man is attractive without going all 'no homo' right?"

Scoffing, Esposito shook his head. "Whatever, bro," he grumbled. He waved his hand in the air, as if to dismiss the topic. "Anyways, she was distracted by the flirting."

"Yeah, but she's with Castle," Ryan argued. "And Kate herself said she wasn't interested in Hunt like that."

"Still," Esposito hedged, "doesn't mean she didn't appreciate the flirting, especially with a guy like Hunt."

Ryan opened his mouth, appearing confused, as if they'd had this conversation or one similar recently, but Esposito continued on before he could speak.

"I ain't saying she'd step out on him," Esposito assured. "Beckett's not like that. She's got integrity. But since Spy Boy's been gone, she's been lonely. I've noticed. We've all noticed." He paused, letting that sink in. "Doesn't hurt to flirt once in a while, Kev, as long as it doesn't go beyond that. You feel me?"

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Ryan nodded. "I suppose, but still…"

"Look, don't get your panties in a bunch, man," Esposito groaned. "Nothing happened. As I said before, Beckett would never cheat on Castle. That's not her. And those two are disgustingly in love. It's gross, really. As for Hunt, that whole thing was all one sided. Sure, she might have enjoyed the attention, briefly, but her mind was always on Spy Boy. And him not being here, that's what really distracted her. She needs him. She might not always say it, might not even want to admit it, but… yeah."  
He trailed off, growing uncomfortable with the territory their conversation was straying into. Ryan bobbed his head, and met his gaze.

"Um… yeah," he echoed.

"Shit," Esposito pushed up off his desk, feeling his face flush with the embarrassment of discussing their female colleague's love life, and stalked over to the white board. "Let's just forget it, all right. The Feds have Beckett doing something for them. And the Cap'n wants us to wrap up the loose strings on this case."

He tapped Naomi Allen's photo and then tapped the sketch artist's drawing of the witness's description of Colin Hunt.

"We now know Hunt killed her," he summarized. "But I don't think we'll ever learn why. The motive's lost on this. Moot point, really, seeing as Beckett got a confession. And besides, CIA's got him now. That little parade a few minutes back… mark my words, Kev, that's the last we'll see of him."

"CIA?" Ryan stood, brow wrinkled, wide eyed and flummoxed.

Esposito glanced at him with a bemused expression. "Seriously, bro? You didn't know those guys were CIA?"

"Er… how'd you know?" Ryan asked, slightly defensive.

"Danberg," he stated as if it were obvious, staring at his friend as if he'd lost his mind.

Ryan blinked for several moments before the realization struck. "Oh yeah," his face scrunched up in annoyance. "I can't believe I missed that."

Esposito shook his head and grinned, reaching over to pat his friend's shoulder in a conciliatory manner. "We're not all ace detectives, bro. Don't take it too bad."

Narrowing his eyes in a mild approximation of the glare their team leader dealt out to perps during interrogation, Ryan placed his hands on his hips and pursed his lips, but refused to take the bait. Esposito just chuckled and slapped his shoulder again.

"All right, back to the case," Esposito said. "Hunt may have been purposely steering us towards Nigel Wyndham as a scapegoat, but from what I've seen of him, he's definitely a shady dealer."

"That he is," Ryan concurred. "I guess the question is why was Naomi looking at him, and whether or not it had something to do with why Hunt killed her."

Esposito cocked his head, letting his eyes roam over the white board. "Damn it," he huffed. "Hunt was right about one thing, even if he was pointing us away from himself, those numbers are the key to finding out how Wyndham's involved."

"Well, I'm pretty certain they're numbers indicating a diplomatic pouch," Ryan said. "W4 refers to the size of the pouch, and the 1949 indicates exactly which pouch it is in the consulate sequence."

"Okay, okay," Esposito bobbed his head, doing his best to pretend he actually understood all that, while at the same time encouraging his partner to go on.

"Well, it's as Hunt said. He was right," Ryan said, frowning. "It's got to be smuggling. As the Deputy General of the Consulate, Wyndham signs for all the pouches. Diplomatic pouches are sealed and their contents bypass TSA and customs inspections."

Esposito rolled his shoulders. "As much as I hate to admit it, yeah, Hunt was right about that, makes me wonder how much he really knew."

"Too bad we'll never find out now that the CIA has him," Ryan added, offering a tight smile, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Shaking his head, knowing his partner was pleased to be in on the joke now, Esposito squinted as he stared at the numbers written on the white board in Beckett's distinct handwriting.

"We need to know what was in that pouch," he said, refolding his arms across his chest.

Ryan winced. "I don't think we can, Espo," he said. "At least, not legally. Their diplomatic pouches. I don't even think we'd be able to get a warrant to open them."

Cursing, Esposito stomped his foot in frustration. "There's gotta be something. We can't let this guy skate off. For all we know Wyndham hired Hunt to kill her and then, being the shady sleazebag he is, skipped out on paying. So, Hunt infiltrates our investigation to steer us towards Wyndham as a sort of revenge."

"Yeah, but… didn't Beckett say Hunt was working for Madd—er—Kilmer, and that's why he was here, spying on us for him," Ryan interjected, looking apologetic for reminding him of what Beckett had told them after Hunt was arrested.

"Yeah, I guess, still… I can't help thinking something else is going on, and we're stuck out of the loop," Esposito asserted. A muted laughed issued from his partner. He arched his neck and glanced over at Ryan with a furrow brow. "What?"

"Nothing," Ryan insisted, waving his hand to ward off the question. "Nothing."

Esposito just stared harder at him.

"Okay," Ryan relented with a light laugh. "I don't know. Nowadays, it just seems like we're always out of the loop." He gestured towards the conference room, where the blinds were shut and the door locked. "Take whatever's going on in there. Beckett got invited in, we didn't."

Puffing out his chest in defense of their team leader, Esposito scoffed. "Beckett's always been the senior detective in our group."

"True," Ryan agreed. "But… Jeez, Javi, I don't know. It's just like things have been different. You know?"

He didn't answer for a long time, simply narrowing his eyes as he stared at the closed door to the conference room. "Yeah," he eventually conceded. "Things have been different, bro. All started when Spy Boy showed up. Maybe that spook shit is rubbing off on Beckett."

Ryan shuddered. "That's some disturbing imagery," he grimaced.

Esposito cracked a grin, meeting Ryan's eyes. "Yeah, well, it's the truth, ain't it?" he said. "Still, you gotta wonder. Since she hooked up with Castle, it's like Beckett has some level of security clearance that even the captain doesn't have. Take how they let her in on Hunt's interrogation, but then she was booted out, looking pretty pissed."

Ryan shrugged. "Perhaps she's only cleared to know certain things."

"And if they don't tell her, Castle does," Esposito added. He shook her head. "You know, at first, I wasn't sure about the guy. I didn't think he was right for Beckett. Too much like the last guy. You know? Always off saving the world."

His partner shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I don't think Beckett would like us talking about her personal life," he attested.

"Yeah, you're probably right, Honey Milk," Esposito smirked.

Ryan's face contorted into an expression that combined abashed and annoyed. "Hey, I told you that in confidence."

Esposito shook his head, chuckling. "You're so whipped, dude."  
"Yeah, well," he fumbled around for a retort, but before he could find one their attention—and that of the entire bullpen, for that matter—were drawn towards the shuttered conference room, where raised voices could be heard.

XXX

Captain Victoria Gates slammed her fist down against the long table in the center of the conference room as she stood up. Her face was set in a combination of displeasure and fury.

"Agent McCord," she spoke in a low, menacing voice, as cold as ice. "You promised me that you had her back. What happened?"

McCord exchanged a look with Captain Fowler, before rounding on the angry commanding officer of the Twelfth Precinct. "We were set up for a simple meet, not an orchestrated kidnapping."

"The security cameras?" Gates demanded, striding around the table to join them by the makeshift command post with its two computer monitors and twin speakers. "Did they get a shot of who did this?"

A FBI computer tech was working at the station, typing rapidly on the keyboard as he worked. Gates narrowed her eyes, growing aggravated at not receiving an immediate response. He pursed his lips and exchanged a glance with Agent Matt Hendricks.

"Hendricks?" McCord asked her partner.

He patted the technician's shoulder and straightened up. Turning around to face the irate captain and his superiors, Hendricks shook his head. "They were disabled momentarily throughout the hotel."

"What about the mic you planted on Beckett?" Gates insisted.

Hendricks winced. "We stopped receiving audio after she got into the elevator," he admitted, looking duly contrite. Much more than his partner. "It was expected. The signal strength drops in enclosed spaces."

Gates folded her arms over her chest and glared at McCord. "And let me guess, whoever was in room 1123 didn't know about a meeting because there never was going to be one."

McCord acknowledged her statement with a brief nod. "All right, yeah. There was no meeting. Not in that room. That's not how an outfit like this operates. We knew it. We were prepared for it."

"Bullshit," Gates snapped. "If you were prepared for it you'd have had your people better placed to protect my detective. And furthermore, I resent that this information wasn't disclosed to Beckett when she was asked to participate in this exercise. She—and myself—should have been informed of the added risks."

"Noted," McCord answered with a terse tone.

"Look, Victoria, we'll issue a limited alert," Captain Fowler asserted, stepping in to try and defuse the situation brewing in the conference room.

"A limited alert!?" Gates scoffed, rounding on the Narcotic Department Captain, jamming her finger into his chest. "We need to call in the cavalry here."

McCord reached out and lightly touched her arm, attempting to calm her down. "We know the drug ring tracks police radios," she asserted. "Sending up a flare like that could make things worse."

Gates shook her head, disgusted by their hard tactics. This was why she didn't like Federal agents swooping in and commandeering her people. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared back at the Justice Department agent.

"They must have known that Elena Markov rolled on them," she surmised. "Or they made Beckett. Either way she's dead if we don't find her immediately."

McCord moved, stretching an arm out to block her path as she headed for the door. Gates pursed her lips and glared at the Federal agent.

"Trust Beckett to handle herself, Captain Gates," McCord said. "I'll admit, I haven't known her that long, but from what I've seen she is more than capable of improvising, adapting to shifting circumstances."

"You don't think I know that?" Gates objected, indignant. "Detective Beckett is one of my best detectives, Agent McCord. She may be a pain in my ass at times, stubborn as hell and tenacious. She doesn't back down. That's what makes her so good at her job. So yes, she'll stick with it, because that's her job. And because she's a cop. A damn fine cop."

McCord withdrew her arm and nodded. "That she is, Captain," she agreed. "That's why I believe we can trust her to handle this unexpected change in the operation. Just… give her some time." She turned and signaled to Hendricks. "In the meantime we'll send out that limited alert, keep things off regular channels. Just trust her enough to give her some time before we call in the cavalry and risk losing this one shot we have at finding out who Lazarus is."

"Lazarus?" Gates's eyes jerked up, her mouth dropping in a sharp gasp. "This was never about the drug ring, was it?" She shook her head, stepping back. "I can't believe I didn't see it before. Why else would the FBI use resources on this operation when the NYPD is quite capable of conducting its own without Federal supervision! It's so obvious. It's all about this Lazarus figure. Don't bullshit me, Agent McCord. Tell me the truth."

McCord sighed and exchanged a frustrated glance with Hendricks. "All right, Captain Gates," she said. "You're right. I don't care about taking down this new drug ring. That's Captain Fowler's job. Your job. I'm here for the bigger picture. And that is Lazarus."

"Why?"

McCord squinted and scratched her chin. "That's classified," she asserted. "All you need to know is that this is important. Really important. If it wasn't, I wouldn't have risked sending Detective Beckett in." She held up a hand to forestall another argument from Gates. "I like her, too, Captain. I have no wish to see any harm befall her. And also like you, I know how good she is. I believe in her. Trust her to see this through. Just… hold off on sending in the cavalry and give her a chance to prove our faith in her ability true."

Gates mulled over it for a solid minute, before relenting with a nod. "Very well," she said. "We'll wait. But if we don't hear from her by nine o'clock, I'm calling it in."

XXX

She had given up struggling with her bonds a while ago. Her boyfriend had more training and expertise in that arena. Instead she focused on using her observational skills to gauge and estimate the distance traveled according to every bounce she felt, any shift in direction, and the sounds of the truck's engine. Beckett tilted her head, down and to the left, murmuring in a quiet voice, praying that someone was still listening to her observations on the other end of the bug planted in the button on the lapel of her coat.

"We've been driving for about an hour now, maybe more," she said, keeping up a running commentary, glancing about the interior rear cabin of the cube truck. "Uh… two lane road, not a lot of traffic." She stopped, hearing the squeal of poorly oiled breaks. Instinctually her abdomen tensed to help keep her upright as the vehicle started to decelerate. Her brow knitted together. "We're slowing down." Her body jerked forward. "And we've stopped." Her eyes flicked to the button, a sudden fear ratcheting up inside her chest. _I've got to get rid of this thing_.

A speaker above her head crackled to life.

"_Get on your knees and face the wall toward the cab_," came the voice of the man who had abducted her at gun point. The name tag in the concierge outfit he'd been wearing had identified him as 'Chris', but she doubted that was his real name. "_Do not move_."

Beckett scrambled into motion. Ducking her head down, she raised her left shoulder as best she could with her wrists bound behind her back. She craned her neck, reaching for the lapel with her mouth. After a few misses, where she snagged part of the fabric with her teeth, Beckett eventually captured the button. Jerking her head back hard, in a vicious bite, she yanked the button off the coat lapel.

Pushing up on her knees, Beckett hurriedly moved into the position her captor's voice had instructed. Turning her head, she spat the button out, watching as it bounced against the side of the cabin and slid down to the floor bed, getting lost in a pile of disused tarps stacked against the inner side wall.

She settled back down into position, sighing in relief, just as the back door of the cargo compartment rattled noisily as it was shoved upwards. The fading light of the sun shone in from behind, her shadow stretched out before her on the bed of the cabin.

"Don't turn around," the man declared.

Beckett couldn't see him from her vantage point, but her years on the force gave her a sort of six sense. He had a gun on her, ready to take her out if she made any move that he would consider hostile. So, she remained still, breathing steadily as she stared ahead, listening.

He took a sharp inhale of breath as he climbed up into the back of the cabin. She could sense him flexing his fingers around the handle of the gun, cautious and alert. With a quick motion, he grabbed her by the arm, squeezing her bicep tightly as he roughly hauled her up to her feet. Much to her chagrin, a startled gasp escaped her mouth.

"Time to see if you're wearing a wire," he announced, voice calm and collected, with a hint a menace lying beneath the surface.

"I'm not wearing a wire," Beckett asserted through clenched teeth, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that," the sandy haired man declared.

With one hand firmly gripping her arm, he holstered his weapon and then produced an electromagnetic sweeper. A quiet, steady beeping noise issued out of the device once he activated it. Keeping hold of her, he bent his knees and crouched. He started with her feet, running the sweeper over her shoes, and around her ankles. Then, painstakingly slowly, he moved the beeping device up, sliding it between her parted legs. His eyes remained glued on her face the entire time, watching for any facial tics or tells.

When he reached the apex of her legs, he held the device extremely close to her groin, lingering in that intimate location longer than was strictly necessary. But there was nothing sexual about it. That's what made it all the more terrifying. She held her breath, and waited. The device continued its steady beeping as he swept it across her pelvis and hips, along the curve of her rear, and back around to her center, all the while watching her to see if the close proximity of his hand to such an intimate area would unnerve her. She did her best not to react. She stayed perfectly still, unwilling to show any sign to him just how uncomfortable this invasive scan made her.

Finally, he moved on, creeping the electromagnetic sweeper up to her stomach, zigzagging his way along her torso until he reached her breasts. Again, he lingered, his eyes never once averting or glancing away from her face. He curved the device over the swell of her left breast, and then the other. His face remained impassive, displaying nothing that could indicate which way he leaned when it came to believing her story.

Beckett inhaled a short breath, and worked at controlling her thumping heart. The man's eyes squinted as he observed the movements along her facial muscles, but didn't react one way or another. He simply continued his excruciatingly slow and methodical search of her person. He ran the sweeper along her collarbones, and down the length of each arm, curving the device under her armpits and lingering around her wrists. Lifting it back up, he swept the bug detector around her neck, over each ear, and around her head, covering the complete circumference of her cranium, as if she might have a bug buried in the long tresses of her luscious brunette hair.

No alarms or alerts issued from the device, just the steady rhythm of the electronic beeps for the duration of the scan. Beckett risked a glance at the sandy haired man. His expression remained cool. Lifting the little machine up in front of her face, he thumbed it off with a nod, seemingly satisfied that she wasn't wired. Beckett licked her lips and sighed, allowing her tense muscles to relax.

However, she barely had any time to celebrate that small victory before a black hood was being dragged over her head, engulfing her in darkness.


	15. Chapter 14

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 14**_

* * *

With the prisoner deposited in holding, Agent Danberg needed to retreat to his office to collect himself before preparing for a further interrogation.

He plopped down in the chair behind his desk and released a long-held breath. Closing his eyes, he scrubbed a hand down his face, finding it difficult to reconcile the events of the last few hours. When he had returned to New York after visiting Castle in the Bunker and relating his concerns, he hadn't actually thought he would encounter the man from the police sketches.

Everything seemed to move at light speed the moment Detective Beckett entered the conference room with the information relayed to her from Castle. Danberg still couldn't believe the killer had been hiding amongst the detectives of the Twelfth Precinct, masquerading as a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. He felt bad about pulling the reins on Beckett's interrogation—the woman deserved her shot at the son of a bitch—but the investigation into the Consortium was need to know. And right now, Kate Beckett did not need to know. He had no doubt that once Rick Castle returned to New York, the lovesick man would divulge everything to the intrepid detective.

Danberg shifted in his chair, bending down to open up a drawer on the bottom right of his desk. He retrieved a bottle of Scotch from within, along with a glass tumbler. Unscrewing the cap, he poured himself a generous amount of the amber liquor. He took a long gulp, grimacing as he savored the alcoholic burn as it ran down his throat.

"I got him, Ana," he spoke into the empty room. "I got him."

He took another long gulp, and closed his eyes, releasing a long sigh. Danberg had many regrets in his life, but none was more prominent than Ana Cavendish. He should have told her how he felt. At least now he had the satisfaction of knowing he had the man who'd killed her in custody. Colin Hunt had confessed to all it, like it was something to be proud of. He had no fear or concern in his tone. Gloating.

The SOB had been hired by Ray Kilmer to distract Kate Beckett from something. And the method requested to achieve that goal made Danberg sympathize with the anger Beckett displayed after he pulled her out of the interrogation. He knew firsthand how deep and powerful the feelings the detective shared with Rick Castle were, having witnessed them blossom from the very beginning. Those two made a cynical man like Danberg believe in such things as true love and soulmates. They were a good match, and as his friend, Danberg was glad to see Castle finally find some happiness after all the shit life had dealt him.

He threw his head back and downed the last of the Scotch, when the landline phone on his desk started to ring. Placing the glass down, Danberg picked up the receiver and held it up to his ear.

"Hello," he greeted in a neutral voice.

"_Agent Danberg_," came the voice of NCS Director Samson York. "_I hear that you've apprehended the man going by the alias of Colin Hunt. Has his connections to the Consortium been confirmed?_"

"Yes, sir," Danberg answered. "And to Ray Kilmer. We currently have him in holding. Agent Riley is running his fingerprints while we prep for interrogation."

"_Very good_," York said. "_Though, there was no reason you personally needed to accompany the prisoner back to the holding. I sent you to work on the NYPD/Justice Department operation for a reason_."

"Sir, with all due respect, my presence wasn't required. I believe Agent McCord from the AG's task force can handle it," he replied. "She's more than capable."

"_Indeed_," York concurred. "_But I need you there for when information on Lazarus is collected. We can't go around tapping into the Justice Department's networks, no matter how easy that would be. The Director is facing serious pressure from Washington. It's why I picked you. Because you could be trusted, and discreet. This Colin Hunt business disrupts things_."

"I'm aware of that, yes."

"_I hear that you and Detective Beckett interrogated the prisoner prior to us taking full custody of him_."

"That is correct."

"_Unfortunate_."

"Detective Beckett is more capable than you realize, sir," Danberg supplied.

"_Oh, I don't doubt that, Martin_," York assured with a mild chuckle, before turning serious. "_However, her access to classified information is worrisome_."

"You don't like it, take it up with Castle," Danberg asserted, after a hesitant pause, not wanting to get his friend into too much trouble.

"_Yes, Castle does seem to speak freely around her on any subject, regardless of security clearances_," York commented. Danberg could just picture the older man stroking his fingers through his goatee. "_Speaking of Rick Castle, we have a problem there. He left the Embassy in London with Mr. Singh, and the two have hopped on a commercial airplane bound for New York_."

Danberg slapped a hand to his face, and worked at suppressing a groan. He should have known. Castle had increasingly been making rash decisions without thought of the consequences to his career ever since he took up with Kate Beckett. Danberg was beginning to think that there was some truth to the notion that the relationship had emotionally compromised the once superb agent. He'd still defend his friend, but Castle needed to learn how to show some restraint, otherwise he'd face far worse than an official disciplinary inquiry.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" he asked.

"_Nothing… for now_. _I want to see how it plays out,_" York replied, cryptically. The old man did always seem to give Castle a lot of latitude. Too much, some would say. "_In the meantime, please do try to stay on top of things. I have a gut feeling something is going to happen, and soon. However, not much can be learned until Detective Beckett returns from her undercover assignment._"

His mouth dropped before he could control his reaction. He really shouldn't be surprised at his superior's ability to obtain all relevant information regarding ongoing operations within his sphere of influence. York had a fierce reputation in that regards, which was how he'd secured the position of Director of National Clandestine Services at the CIA. Still, Danberg was curious.

"How'd you know about that, sir?" he asked.

"_I have my sources_," York answered, enigmatically. "_Just, please do stay on top of that operation while you start in on the questioning of this Colin Hunt fellow. You're our highest ranking officer there, so I'm giving you full authority in this matter._"

A smirked touched his lips. "Yes sir. And thank you."

"_Don't thank me yet, Agent Danberg_," York replied. "_I have a feeling we're in for a long couple of days ahead_."

XXX

She sat on an ornate wooden bench in the darken hallway of some generic mansion. Beckett hadn't been in many mansions, but this seemed pretty much the usual. Though there was something off about it. It felt so empty, as if no one actually lived there. Sitting on bench beside her, watching, was the sandy haired man who had abducted her at gunpoint from the hotel elevator. From the brief snippets of conversation exchanged between the guards that she had overheard while being led through the mansion, Beckett now knew he went by the name Harden.

While they sat there, waiting, the faint sounds of an argument drifted out from a room down the hall. The closed door made it difficult to make anything out, the voices muffled and unintelligible. Harden did not react to the raised voices. He simply sat there, watching her with hard, keen eyes. His behavior brought a whole new meaning to the notion that staring was creepy. Internally, it was starting to freak her out, but she worked hard at suppressing the rising tide of panic that was threatening to bubble up inside. The longer she was kept waiting, the more worrying it became. Still, she kept her eyes pointed ahead, focused on controlling her breathing. Nice and steady.

To her right, partially hidden in the shadows of a doorway, stood a guard dressed in all black, holding a M4A1 Carbine in the rest position. He was big, muscled, and imposing. Despite all that, he didn't worry her as much as the man sitting beside her.

Rotating her head ever so slightly, she glanced at Harden, and then shifted her gaze around him, narrowing her eyes as she stared down the hallway where, at the other end, another armed man stood guard. Harden followed her gaze, twisting his neck around to look down the hall before shifting back to stare at her once more.

She licked her lips, anxious. "So… what happens now?" Beckett asked, uncertain exactly how she was supposed to proceed or behave. None of this had been part of the plan. She was beginning to suspect that Agent McCord hadn't been completely honest with them about that supposed meeting in Room 1123.

"That's not my call," Harden answered with an indifferent tone.

Beckett folded her hands in her lap, and lifted her gaze back to the closed door of the room the indistinct voices were issuing out of. "Is that who we're waiting for?" she questioned, turning back to Harden. "Whoever is in that room?"

Harden narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You sound worried?"

She hesitated. "Should I be?"

He studied her for a long beat. "What the hell makes you so special?"

"I'm not special. I don't know anything," she replied quickly, worried that she'd made a mistake. "I just move packages. I'm not a threat to anyone."

"You can drop the act," he hissed, showing the first sign of emotion. Annoyance.

Beckett faltered, unable to stop her brow from wrinkling in confusion. None of this felt right. It did not appear that her cover was blown, yet from Harden's responses, she was beginning to suspect that Elena Markov had been far more than a simple courier. Either Agent McCord had lied to them, or Elena had been a very good actress.

A quiet, electronic alert sounded, and Harden shifted on the bench, reaching inside his jacket to pull out his phone. He flicked his wrist, and swiped his thumb over the screen. Beckett held her breath and watched him anxiously. His face remained impassive as he read the text message.

"Let's go," he stated, glancing back up at her and pocketing his phone. "You're up."

He stood, and she followed, smoothing her hands down the crease in her pants. Pursing her lips and schooling her features, Beckett trailed after him as he led the way to the room down the hall. Harden stopped by the door and glanced at her, before turning back and knocking.

"Come in," called a muffled voice.

Harden turned the knob and opened the door, stepping back to gesture her ahead. Breathing through her nose, Beckett walked across the threshold and entered a spartan home office. It was big and vast. The walls were bare of any adornments, save for the sconce lighting and two candelabra mounted on the wall, either side of the door. The desk was of an elegant mahogany wood, stationed in front of a tall window that looked out into the estate gardens outside.

From behind the desk a man of obvious Italian heritage stood up. His eyes, from behind stylish glasses, watched her as she entered. Harden closed the door behind them, and out of the corner of her eye she observed him adjusts his jacket and rest a hand on the butt of his pistol as he followed her inside. Beckett continued forward, walking with steady and confident steps as she made her way over to stand just in front of the desk.

The man tucked his hands into his pockets and casually strolled around to meet her. He tilted his head to the right, just a fraction, eyes squinting ever so slightly, before shifting and circling around her. She froze in place, feeling his eyes roam over her entire person as he completed the circuit. Stifling the thundering beat of her heart beneath her breast, Beckett kept her expression calm and collected. She flicked her eyes up to meet his, hoping she was not showing any weakness or fear.

He nodded, and adjusted his glasses. "Мне важно знать, друг ли ты," he said in slightly accented Russian that made it clear he wasn't a native speaker. _It is important for me to know if you are a friend_.

Beckett swallowed, remembering McCord and Fowler mentioning that one of the reasons she'd been selected for this assignment was because she could speak fluent Russian. Licking her lips, she tilted her head up and met the man's assessing gaze. "Я друг. Настоящий друг," she answered, putting more confidence into her expression. _I am a friend. A true friend._

He stood there for a beat, eyes narrowed as he gauged her reaction and answer. "You are Elena Markov?" he questioned in slow and menacing tones that had the hairs on the back of Beckett's neck stand up in warning.

She tightened her expression, and made her eyes go a little bit cold, as if dropping a mask and revealing her true self. "Yes," she answered, making sure she spoke with a Russian accent to help maintain the allusion.

A pregnant pause followed as she stared him down. His expression remained unreadable, until the corners of his mouth twitched up ever so slightly and he laughed. The tension, which had been thick and heavy in the air, dissipated. Behind her, Harden holstered his weapon, and sauntered around to her left side, reentering her line of sight.

"It's good to finally meet you," the man with the glasses declared. "You can call me Mr. Jones and," he gestured to Harden, "you've already met Mr. Harden."

Harden bowed his head in greeting, the suspicious and distrusting glint in his cool blue eyes now gone. "Hey."

She inclined her head, then turned back to Jones when he started speaking.

"I apologize for the extreme lengths we went to have this meeting," Jones said, sounding so genuine and sincere that it puzzled her. She retained her cover, standing tall and proud, as if she were Elena Markov, whom she now fully suspected wasn't what she'd appeared to be. "But these are the times we live in," Jones continued, strolling back around to stand behind the mahogany desk. He pulled open a drawer. "Can I get you anything? A drink?"

"No," Beckett replied, maintaining the Russian accent. "Thank you."

"Huh," he nodded, closing the drawer. "To business, then?" Jones bent down and picked up a piece of paper off the surface of the desk and then strolled back around to join her and Harden. "You should know how much we value your services. Lazarus in particular."

The mention of that codename perked up her ears. Back during the operation briefing McCord had indicated that Lazarus was the main reason for the Justice Department's involvement. And with Danberg also present, and how he reacted to when Colin Hunt mentioning of an organization known as the Consortium, Beckett speculated that the two—Lazarus and the Consortium—where linked.

"Well, I do the best I can," Beckett acknowledge, making sure she didn't lay on the accent too thick, keeping it light enough to convince them she was now speaking without the pretense of masking her native tongue.

Jones inclined his head in agreement. "True, but always as a freelancer," he said. "What we want to do is offer you a permanent position with our organization."

The Consortium. It was all Beckett could think about. Everyone was after something different. Captain Fowler was there for the drug ring. McCord was there because of Lazarus. And the CIA had sent Danberg to keep an ear to the ground for this Consortium group. She was beginning to wonder if it was all one and the same.

Jones smiled, and offered her the slip of paper in his hand. Beckett took it and turned it over, seeing a dollar amount written on it, underlined for emphasis: _$50,000_.

"That's per week, of course," Jones continued, cocking his head as he gauged her reaction. "How does that strike you?"

Beckett played as if she was mulling it over. "It's very generous," she said, and then hesitated before making what she knew would be considered a bold request. "But… I'm going to need to meet Lazarus."

Jones exchanged a look with Harden, before returning to meet her gaze. He shook his head. "That's not an option."

"I need to know who I'm doing business with," she declared, standing straight and maintaining a cold-eyed expression, now suspecting Elena Markov was a hired assassin, just like Lockwood or Kilmer had been for Bracken. She relied on her experiencing dealing with such men to help generate the right behaviors and attitudes she should be displaying. "It's a matter of trust." And then she decided to go out on a limb and do a little name dropping herself. "If I can't trust the people who employ me, I might just have to follow the Knave's example."

Jones held up his hands in sign of supplication. "All right, all right," he soothed. Beckett was satisfied to see a tad bit of fear leak onto his features. "I'll pass along the request, but you'll need to remain our guest here until I get an answer."

"Understood," she accepted the terms with a nod.

Seemingly mollified, Jones clapped his hands, and turned to Harden. "Please, see Ms. Markov to her bedroom."

"Sir," Harden said, halting Jones with his tone. "Can I have a word, please?" He flicked his gaze back and forth between Beckett and his superior.

Jones considered his request for a second, before turning to Beckett with an apologetic expression. "Would you excuse me, please?"

"Yes," she nodded, standing in place as Jones stepped around her to join Harden as they walked out of the office.

Beckett remained still until she heard the door close behind her, and then bolted for the landline phone sitting on the corner of the desk, yanking it out of its cradle and hurriedly dialing a number she'd memorized ever since achieving the rank of detective and getting her own desk.

XXX

Javier Esposito let out a groan as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his stiff neck. He flicked his eyes around his desktop computer monitor to see his partner studiously working away on his console, fingers flying across the keyboard, shoulders hunch, brow set, eyes focused. Detective Kevin Ryan was much more suited to this sort of work than he was. Esposito hated this part of the job. He was a man of action. He excelled at hitting the pavement and chasing down leads, not sitting at his desk for hours reading through mind-numbing forms on diplomatic pouches, where they were logged in, and who signed for them.

It was tedious, like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Shifting in his chair, he gazed across the bullpen at the captain's office. About an hour ago, Gates stormed out of the conference room, staring daggers at the Federal agent from the Justice Department inside, looking very irritated. Furious, was more like it. Esposito had slumped down as she stalked passed, not wanting to be caught in her ire. Captain Gates had been locked in her office ever since, pacing back and forth in front of her desk, occasionally on the phone.

He wondered what was going on, and if it had anything to do with what they had wanted Beckett for. His friend and colleague had been out of sorts since Colin Hunt was revealed to be an interloper and Naomi Allen's murderer. He still didn't get that. The why? He didn't necessarily need to know. That's what made him different from Beckett. She was tenacious, fierce. He respected and admired that about her. Beckett liked getting answers. Esposito, on the other hand, could handle not knowing everything. They had a confession. That was good enough for him.

Cracking his knuckles, he turned back to his computer. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. One more hour until end of shift. While the unanswered questions did bug him, he wasn't desperate enough to put in some overtime. It would wait. Solving the murder had been their primary task. And that had been achieved with Hunt's confession. He did dislike Nigel Wyndham, the man was a sleazebag, but with his status at the British Consulate, there really wasn't much they could do once they found out how dirty he really was. Still, Beckett had asked them to look into it, and Esposito learned long ago to follow her lead.

Just as he started to ease back into the swing of scanning through the airport logs, a desk phone behind him started to ring. It was Beckett's landline. She was off on that special assignment for the Feds, so the message machine should answer it. Yet, as the ringing persist, a strange sort of feeling started to tug at his gut. He scowled, arching his neck to stare over at Beckett's desk and the offending device. It could be dispatch, with a late call. Beckett's new assignment was so sudden that dispatch might not be aware the squad leader was out. It could be important.

Sighing, Esposito surrendered to his instinct and pushed his boots on the floor, rolling his chair over towards her desk. He stretched out and reached for the phone, pulling it from the cradle with a sharp twist of his wrist.

"Detective Esposito here," he answered.

"_Javi. Javi, it's me_," came a frantic voice.

He frowned, thrown off by the caller. "Beckett? Why are you calling your desk?"

"_Hey, listen_," she said in a hurried voice, her tone making his spine straighten. "_I don't have much time, but I'm going to need your guy's help_."

Esposito like to think he knew his colleague well, having worked with her the longest out of all their team, and right now she sounded like she could be in some trouble. He arched his neck over to look at Ryan and snapped his fingers to get his attention. He switched the phone over to speaker as Beckett continued in her rushed instructions.

"Get Gates. Fast!"

Ryan's eyes went wide and he dashed over to the captain's office. He knocked rapidly on the door until an irate Gates yanked it open and glared at him. He gestured wildly over to where Esposito sat at Beckett's desk. Realization struck her eyes, and she quick marched over, resting her hands on the edge of the desk as she leaned in.

"I'm here, Detective," Gates announced. "Where are you?"

"_Sir_," Beckett answered in a crisp manner despite the dire straits she obviously currently found herself in. "_Get a trace on this phone. Get eyes on me. I don't know where I am or who the hell Elena Markov is, but her story is a lie. She is more than just a low-level courier. I… I don't have much time. I gotta go_."

Esposito knitted his eyebrows together in alarm. Even without all the background information, he could tell this was troubling news. Gates bent over the phone.

"Just hang in there, Detective. We have your back," the captain asserted, and then the line went dead. Snapping back up, Gates jerked her eyes towards Ryan. "Tell me we got something?"

Ryan shook his head, his features twisted with concern. "It wasn't long enough to get a trace going, no," he said. "Sorry."

Gates tugged at her blazer, and dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. "Not your fault, Detective," she assured. Her eyes narrowed as she glared over towards the conference room. "I'm going to have a chat with our Federal guests. Meanwhile, I want you both to drop what you're doing. Finding Detective Beckett is now our top priority. Draw from what any resources or man power you need."

"Sir," Esposito nodded.

His chest clenched with a mixture of fury and concern. Kate Beckett was more than a colleague to him. She was like a sister. Their team worked so well because of their close bond. All three of them: Him, Ryan, and Beckett. Briefly, while Ryan flipped over the white board to utilized the other side, Esposito closed his eyes and murmured a silent prayer in Spanish, falling back on the old Catholic traditions his abuela had instilled in him as a small child. Whatever was going on, he swore they would get her back. Esposito looked out for his _familia_. And Kate Beckett was family.

XXX

She spoke as fast as possible, not knowing how long she would have alone before Mr. Jones and Harden returned, hoping that despite her rushed words the boys—_her team_—would do what had to be done to help ensure her survival. This wasn't exactly what she'd agreed to, but Beckett was willing to do her job, and see this through, as long as she had a safety net. She had to trust her colleagues to see to that.

Trust.

As she told Mr. Jones, that was the key.

Harden didn't trust her. She could feel it from the way he'd stared at all her all creepily. It made her shudder. She enjoyed the way Rick Castle stared creepily at her far better. Harden's gaze was cold and calculated. But he was just a hired gun, and he yielded to Mr. Jones's judgement. Good thing too, because it appeared that Jones was buying her act, believing her to be Elena Markov.

When the office door reopened, Beckett was standing back in the exact spot as she had been when they left the room. After exchanging some more pleasantries with Mr. Jones, Harden then took her to a room. It was more appointed than the office, a fancy queen-sized bed with fancy sheets. Statuary stood guard on each side of the door frame, silent sentinels, their blank expressions freaking her out a bit. Masterful paintings adorned the walls. As she assessed them, she wondered if they could be stolen.

The door was locked. She jiggled the doorknob, but gave up with a frustrated huff. The sound of breaks squealing pulled her attention away. She marched across to one of the windows, parted the curtain and glanced out. Two dark vans had pulled up out front. Armed men were directing more women inside, all had hoods over their heads, just as she'd had.

What exactly had she stumbled into?

Beckett clenched her jaw, cursing McCord for pressuring her into this operation. She carded her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh of exasperation. Turning, she slipped back away from the window and searched the room. There was no phone here. She didn't have anything, having left all her personal items—wallet, keys, cellphone—back at the precinct after her final briefing with McCord and Captain Fowler. She closed her eyes and fisted her hands at her side as she slumped down on the edge of the bed, wishing she had more time alone in the office to talk.

Her thoughts strayed quite easily and readily to a ruggedly handsome secret agent. Castle laughed when she called him that, saying that while the public and media liked to call him and his colleagues agents, that in house they referred to themselves as officers. Yet, he had admitted, that the common usage of agent had trickled into workplace dialogue and lingo within the Agency. He liked it, said it made him feel very James Bond.

Beckett missed him, deep in her bones. Her heart ached for Castle in a way she had never yearned for another. She reflected on her past relationships. Will Sorenson had been the first serious relationship she'd had as an adult. She been with him for six months, had contemplated moving in with him. But then Will got that promotion that took him to Boston, and he accepted it without even asking her opinion. That ended things. And after they broke up, and he left, Beckett had been heartbroken, yes, but she didn't feel that burning, desperate need inside her to have him back.

All her following relationships had followed a similar pattern, none of them lasting too long. She always had one foot out the door, and kept her heart walled off to protect herself from the hurt and pain of loss. It was a reaction, she was now willing to acknowledge, happened after her mother's death and compounded by her father's descent into alcoholism. The longest relationship she'd had was with Josh Davidson. The cardiac surgeon had just been a place holder, fulfilling a role society deemed necessary. She was in a relationship with him simply to be in a relationship. There was no deep longing or want. She didn't love him. She used him to hide from her true feelings.

And it took a bullet to the heart for her to realize that.

She reached up and placed a hand on her chest, above the spot where she'd been shot. The scar throbbed agonizingly from the reminder, along with the incision along her side, below her breast. Her injuries had healed, but the memories remained, lingering below the surface. Always there. Never gone.

And then Rick Castle came stumbling into her life, and she was a goner before she knew it. Everything prior to him paled in comparison. Dropping her hand back to her lap, Beckett stared ahead, her eyes glistening with renewed determination. If things went badly during this undercover operation, she had to find a way to tell Castle all this, let him know just how much he meant to her.

Standing up, Beckett resumed her search of the room. She examined the wardrobe, the credenza, and the end tables on each of the bed, only to find nothing. There was a desk up against one of the walls, and she rifled through all the drawers, finding a pen and pad of paper. Pulling the chair back, she sat down and uncapped the pen, an overabundance of thoughts swirling around in her head, needing an outlet. She glanced down at the lined paper, chewing on her lower lip as she debated where to start.

Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she hunched her shoulders and leaned over the desk, putting pen to paper… and wrote.

* * *

_Dear Rick,_

_ I don't know how much time I have, even to write this letter. What I do know now is that I'm in this and the only way I'm going to make it out alive is to see this through. I'm sure everyone is looking for me and if they figure out I was here CSU is going to search this house. They're going to look for blood and they will find it, which will lead them to this letter._

_ Babe, it's your letter._

_ And I hope you never have to read this, that I can tell you all of these things in person, but if something happens and I don't make it, I need you to know that our relationship, however brief it has been, is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Ever since my mother's death, I've been closed off, avoiding opening my heart to others. But you broke through, Rick. Only you. My ruggedly handsome secret agent._

_ You're an amazing man, Richard Castle, and I love you with all my heart._

_ Always,_

_ Kate_

* * *

Finished, she reread what she wrote two times, before nodding in satisfaction. There was more Beckett wanted to say, much more, but as she told him in the letter, she didn't know how much time she had. Folding the letter up, she stood and stepped over to an air vent located at the bottom of the interior wall. She crouched down and slipped it through the gaps in the slats.

Striding back over to the desk, she retrieved a paperclip from the drawer, pricked her finger with it, drawing blood. She walked around the room, solemn and pensive, making sure to leave blood in places that her captors wouldn't think to clean when they left. Bending back down near the air vent, she spread a significant among of blood over the metal frame, ensuring that if and when CSU searched this room they would no doubt be drawn towards the vent and find the letter hidden within.

If the worse were to happen, at least she would have left something behind. A final goodbye.


	16. Chapter 15

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 15**_

* * *

Gates watched as her team rolled in and assembled a second whiteboard beside the one already in the conference room. Her chest tightened when Kate Beckett's photo was added alongside that of Elena Markov. The two women did look remarkably similar. Her top detective clearly had some Eastern European genes. Elena Markov's brown hair, however, was darker. They should have thought of that, her worrying brain supplied. Pushed for more information from the Feds.

Her hard gaze flicked to Agent McCord, who was presently on the phone, pacing at the other end of the conference room. Captain Fowler stood at the other end of the table, head bowed, looking lost. Gates frowned and turned back around to Agent Matt Hendricks, who stood looking over the shoulder of the FBI tech manning the computer.

"Are you telling me we can't trace Beckett's call?" she asked, aggrieved.

Hendricks looked appropriately contrite. "It's a voiceover internet line fed through an anonymizer," he attempted to explain.

She didn't understand half of that, and to his credit, he appeared somewhat contrite. "Okay, but can we at least narrow it down to the area where the call was made?"

"Um?" Hendricks said with wide eyes, turning to the computer tech.

The man sighed, and spun around in his chair to face them. "No," he answered, apologetic. "It was routed through the Ukraine and bounced all over Europe. These guys know their security."

Gates folded her arms and nodded, understanding that further prodding would be useless. She was a police captain, a commander of some of the top investigators in New York City, but technology had never been her strong suit. Hell, she had to rely on her teenage daughter to help her set up her new iPhone. As a leader, it was her job to delegate, so she did just that. Sighing, Gates stepped over to join Fowler by the conference table and waited for McCord to finish her call.

"Agent McCord," she said when agent hung up and pocketed her phone. "Why did Beckett tell us that Elena Markov was more than just a courier?"

McCord blinked once. "I have no idea."

Gates narrowed her eyes. She'd spent years in Internal Affairs learning to spot crooked cops, so she knew bullshit when she heard it.

"So there's nothing about her that you haven't told us?" she questioned, face set in a stern, disapproving manner that made it clear she knew McCord wasn't telling her the whole truth. She was also giving the agent a chance to save face and come clean, yet something told her that the woman would just stand her ground. Gates prided herself on her ability to read people, and her pride was well founded, when Agent McCord did just that.

"Absolutely not," McCord didn't balk. The woman was a seasoned Federal agent and wasn't intimidated easily. "Every part of her story checked out. But—"

"But what?" Gates coaxed when the agent trailed off.

McCord pursed her lips, no doubt displeased with being questioned like this. Gates couldn't give a flying rat's ass if it made the woman irritated. Her best detective was out there in an unknown situation that could turn bad very easily. She needed answers.

Sighing, McCord brushed her dark hair back from her face and averted her eyes for a moment, "We didn't have enough time to go deep," she divulged. "Not with things moving this fast. We didn't even know Ms. Markov until yesterday."

"Well," Gates jabbed an accusatory finger at the woman, "maybe you didn't know her at all."

Ryan came jogging in. "Looks like we can fix that, sir," he said, stopping momentarily when both women turned and stared at him. He pursed his lips and swallowed.

"Detective," Gates prompted.

"The hospital just called," he informed them. "Elena Markov. She's conscious."

McCord snapped her fingers, drawing her partner's attention. "We'll go talk to her."

Holding up a hand to stop Hendricks, temporarily blocking his way, Gates eyed McCord with a pointed look. "Take Detective Esposito with you," she demanded, and then added after McCord's annoyed look. "Your track record with honesty is severely lacking, Agent McCord. I need my own eyes and ears present for this interview."

"Eyes and ears," Esposito said under his breath, grinning as he joked. "Is that all I am?"

Gates flashed him a withering look.

"Happy to help, sir," he said, after a gulp.

McCord glanced back and forth between them, before relented with a nod. "Fine, he can come," she agreed. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Lowering her arm, Gates stepped back to allow Agent Hendricks to join his partner as she departed the conference room. Esposito lingered and looking back at his captain.

"Keep your eyes open, Detective."

"Yes, sir," he nodded and glanced at Ryan, before hurrying to catch up with the Federal agents.

Gates crossed her arms over her chest and sauntered back to the whiteboard. She tilted her head as she looked back up at the adjoining photos of Elena Markov and Kate Beckett.

"You think she'll be okay?" Ryan asked in a low, worried voice.

She glanced at the junior detective, his wrinkled brow and large, expressive blue eyes tugged at her heartstrings. She knew what her subordinates called her behind her back. _Iron Gates_. Formidable and distant, uncompromising, that was how they saw her. Her reputation from her time in Internal Affairs proceeded her into her latest posting. But beneath the hard-edged surface was the heart of a compassionate woman who believed in the truth, and the justice it brought.

"Beckett is strong, Detective Ryan," Gates assured. "And she's smart. She can think on her feet. They didn't make her as a cop, so she's got that going for her. And they think she's Elena Markov, which buys us time."

Ryan inclined his head. "But, she's pretending to be Elena when she doesn't know who Elena is. She can't keep that up forever."

"Well, hopefully she won't have to," Gates answered. "Once Elena tells us everything that she knows about this, it could lead us to Beckett."

Ryan nodded, but hardly looked convinced. Truth was, Gates found it just as hard to believe herself.

XXX

It was quiet in the cabin, minus the constant hum of the engines, air circulation, and the occasional cough or snore. He had forgotten what it was like to ride coach on an overnight international flight. Passengers were crammed in like sardines. Most of the time he either caught a flight aboard a military cargo plane or got lucky enough to use one of the Company's Gulfstream jets. He supposed it was just another sign how out of touch he was with the average person. His life was anything but average. It was exciting and dangerous all at once. That had been part of the fun, the thrill.

But it was different now.

His life was different now.

Most of his adulthood had been spent living a transitory life, nothing permanent, always on the move. It was simple and easy, uncomplicated. He did his job, served his country. And for a time, it was enough. Relationships weren't something he had. The closest he came was a long-term 'friends with benefits' arrangement with a woman who turned out to be a rogue agent and traitor.

Discovering that he had a daughter had changed everything. Suddenly his priorities were compromised. Alexis Harper became the most important thing in his life, and he had sworn to do everything in his power to keep her safe. He'd risked everything to achieve that. And in the process, everything changed. Not just did he have a daughter now, but the entire crazy series of events had led him to a challenging, maddening, yet extraordinary woman.

Detective Kate Beckett was perhaps the first woman he'd been with in his adult life who was genuine and real. He had always kept himself distant, relishing in the freedom of casual hook ups and flings. He'd never had trouble finding female companionship. But nothing beyond sex. He had never wanted that, wanted more.

Until her.

She changed everything.

They just clicked from the start. He had never experienced such a thing. Encountering her was like a miracle, opening his eyes to a world he'd long since imagined, but had believed to be just a fantasy. Beyond his reach. Yet with her, Castle found himself believing in the impossible. He had never loved as fiercely as he had with her.

It was terrifying.

No one had ever told him that.

There should be a warning label or something, he mused. _Beware: Love can be terrifying_. But it could also be brilliant, liberating, and wonderful beyond belief. The joy he experienced with her, simply being with her, was unlike anything he'd could imagine in his wildest dreams, and Rick Castle had some pretty vivid dreams.

It made him want to be a better man, a better father, and a better son. He wanted so much with Kate Beckett, with his mother and daughter, with all of them. It struck him suddenly. Glancing around at the rows of seats crammed with passengers either dozing and/or futilely attempting to sleep, Castle almost laughed. Vikram Singh snored beside him, slumped awkwardly against the side of the fuselage, face smashed against the window.

It was a strange place to have an epiphany.

A family. Yes. That was what he wanted. Castle wanted to build a family, centered around him and Kate. Together. He didn't have a typical upbringing. With his mother in the theater, they moved around a lot, following her gigs or an acting troupe. He had no complaints. Martha Rodgers was a loving, caring mother, and she did the best she could with what she had. She loved him. That was all that mattered.

A family.

Shocking.

It wasn't about having kids, but eventually, yeah, he liked to think they'd have kids together. Little Castle babies. Maybe three.

But no. This was about being a unit. Two becoming one.

Letting out a breath, he scrubbed a hand down his face, letting the realization sink in. It made him tremble with nerves. It was scary. He never thought he'd want a life other than the one he was currently living. Amazing how much could change in a year, he thought, smiling.

But his cheer was short lived.

William Bracken.

The man lurked in the shadows like an ominous specter, ready to pounce without notice. Castle had risked everything to make a deal with the man, a deal that would keep the woman he loved alive. If he lost her because of that, he would be devastated, but it would still be worth it. He could not live in a world where there was no Kate Beckett. The very notion was inconceivable.

Ignoring the snoring Vikram, Castle dug his CIA-issued cellphone, the TCD-74, out of his pocket and flipped it open. Flirting his eyes around the cabin, paranoia threatening to consume him, Castle contemplated making the call in the cramped lavatory for added privacy. Deciding that standing up and heading for the lavatories would call more attention than staying seated, Castle remained where he was. He glanced down at his cell, and punched in the number.

Holding the archaic looking flip phone up to his ear, Castle tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for it to connect. He grew more worried with each passing ring, until finally his call was answered.

"_This is Detective Kate Beckett. I'm unavailable at the moment, but please leave a message_."

Grunting, he hung up and shook his head, cursing silently. A twisted knot formed in his gut. Something was wrong. He could sense it. Checking the time, he swore, viciously. From what she'd told him, it was supposed to be a straightforward operation. In and out. Simple as that. A walk in the park. Kate's part in it should be over by now. Yet she wasn't answering her phone.

Damn Agent McCord, he thought, for pressuring Kate into it.

But he knew his girlfriend. She was a stubborn, fiercely independent woman. No one could force her to do anything. Whatever facts she had been presented with had convinced her to accept the undercover assignment. Kate Beckett was like that. She always tried to do the right thing. It was one of the things he loved about her.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he fisted his hands until his knuckles turned white, gritting his teeth, trying to suppress the anxious and apprehensive energy bubbling up inside him. He felt trapped, helpless to do anything but wait. He hated feeling useless. It was not a feeling he was fond of. Staring dead ahead at the screen embedded on the seatback in front of him, he saw that the digital progression map showed them to be halfway across the Atlantic.

Four hours.

Castle took a deep breath and tried to find his calm center as he'd been trained. It was difficult, with all the thoughts and worries swirling around in his head, yet somehow, he found some semblance of tranquility in reminding himself that his girlfriend was highly capable, and extremely good at her job. She could handle herself with the best of them, of that he had no doubt.

Four hours more, he told himself, and then she wouldn't have to do it alone.

Sighing, he leaned back in his seat and realized there wasn't anything he could really do except wait, which he hated. But, he realized after a moment, there was something he could do, something that would make Kate smile and would also serve at calming his rattled nerves.

Castle dug the moleskin notepad he kept on his person at all times out from his pocket. The cover was worn and a little beat up, but it was still in pretty good condition, all things considered. He leafed through the pages, scanning the scenes he'd crafted, beautiful, adventurous, thrilling. He took a pen out of another pocket when he located the spot he'd left off with Detective Nikki Heat and journalist extraordinaire Jameson Rook. Wetting his lips, he narrowed his eyes and thought. And then he put pen to paper, and wrote.

XXX

She sat on the ottoman by the foot of the bed, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped together. Today had started off so well, she'd been in such a good mood after indulging in some self-care the previous night, imagining Castle back with her, pleasuring her, loving her. Then it all turned upside down, and now here she sat, in some mansion, trying to infiltrate a drug ring while she posed as a Russian assassin. And on top of all that, the uncertainty of her present circumstances had forced her to write what was essentially a goodbye letter to the man she loved with her whole heart.

The whiplash of it all was mindboggling.

Beckett could only hope that the quick call she had managed to make to Esposito would be enough to allow her team to assist her before she got too deep into this situation that she could no longer bluff her way through it. She could only take it so far with what little she actually knew. And it as obvious that Harden was already suspicious of her.

She heard a click from the door as it was unlocked. Harden appeared in the opened doorway. He scanned the room once with sharp eyes until his gaze fell on her. She looked back at him, steady and cold, playing up the role of the emotionless assassin.

"Mr. Jones wants a word," he said, watching her warily as she stood, smoothing her hands down her dark jeans.

Beckett nodded, and Harden stepped back, gesturing her out before him. She held her chin high, and strolled out into the hallway, walking confidently in front of him as she retraced the path back to the office. Harden signaled for her to wait, and she stood still, hands folded in front of her, keeping her back ramrod straight as she stared dead ahead. Harden knocked on the door.

"Come in."  
Harden grabbed the knob and pushed the door open. Now faced with entering the office, Beckett found herself unable to move, worry creeping into her mind. But when Harden glanced back at her with a frown, she concluded that her true identity was still safe.

"Let's go," he said, and allowed her to precede him into the room.

Beckett marched forward with long, confident strides. Harden entered behind her, only stepping forward when she reached the desk, where Mr. Jones sat, reviewing some files. On her approach, he leaned back and removed his glasses with one hand, dropping them casually on top of the files he was reading.

"I've got surprising news," he announced. "Lazarus agreed to meet with you."

Harden was unable to conceal his shock as he glanced back and forth between them. Beckett kept her features impassive, hiding her disbelief that her earlier requests were being granted. However, from the small quirk on Mr. Jones's lips, Beckett suspected there was more to it.

"But?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Perceptive," Mr. Jones smiled, pleased. "Lazarus will meet with you… if you agree to an assignment."

Pursing her lips, Beckett flicked her gaze over to Harden, before returning to Mr. Jones. "What assignment?" she questioned, circumspect.

Jones folded his hands in front of him on the desktop surface and leaned forward. "You complete the assignment, you get the meeting," he declared, declining to acquiesce to her request for further details. "Take it or leave it."

Beckett squinted her eyes, mulling over the idea. On the plus side this might provide her with an opportunity to get out of their watchful gaze, time which she could them use to contact the precinct once more, see if they'd learn anything more about Elena Markov that could help her keep her cover. There was a long list of cons, but that single plus was enough to convince her that it was a risk worth taking.

"Deal," she agreed, and relaxed her posture. "What do I have to do?"

"What you do best."

Picking up a photo from the file he had been reviewing, Jones handed it to Harden, who then passed it off to her. She took it and glanced down, seeing a white man with graying hair, dressed in a business suit. The portrait appeared like one that would be found on some corporate website.

"Kill him," Jones said, retrieving his glasses, sliding them back on. "And make it clean."

She nodded.

"Good," Jones said with a satisfying nod. "Mr. Harden will take care of you."  
A black hood was being pulled over her head before she knew it. Harden gripped her bicep in a tight grasp, and led her out of office. She was ushered through the mansion and guided into the backseat of a car. She listened to the rumble of the motor, the crunch of gravel under tires, then the smooth roll of asphalt, anything that could tell her where they were going. The car made two turns and then sped up. They were on a freeway for a short time before exiting. Several more turns followed, and then the car slowed to a smooth stop. The black hood was yanked away and she blinked, jerking her head around to take in her surroundings.

They sat parked in front of an upscale house somewhere in suburbia. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to read an address, anything that could help her nail down where they were.

"We're here," Harden announced as he watched her.

Tilting her head, she stared back at him, repressing the twisting knot of anxiety that formed in her stomach. "Where's here?"

Harden shifted, narrowed his eyes. "All you need to know is that your target's in that house."

"Is he alone?" she asked, glancing back out the side window at the quiet suburban home.

"As far as I know," Harden replied, sounding annoyed at her question.

She jerked her head back, flicked her eyes down to see him produce a gun with a silencer attached to the barrel. He held it up and offered it to her. She took it, tentative.

"Use this," he instructed. "Lazarus doesn't want it to be connected to your other kills."

Beckett dropped her gaze, examining the weapon in her hand. A SIG Sauer, similar to the make Castle used. She preferred her Glock, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Well, he's got to be important. Who is he?"

Harden shrugged, puzzled by the question. "He's the next name on the list."

That wasn't enough for her. She needed more.

"What does he do?"

"Why are you so curious all of a sudden?" Harden asked, shifting in his seat. Her keen eyes caught the movement of his hand, and he pulled his own gun from its holster, casually resting it in his lap. "Why are you stalling?"

Her eyes flicked back up to meet his. She wasn't intimidated.

"Have you ever heard of recon?" Beckett questioned, adding a slight scoff to it, really getting into the character. She dropped the Russian accent. "I'm good at what I do because I can blend in. I like to know what I'm walking into. Is he a cop? Is he a drug dealer? Are there guns in the house? Curiosity keeps me alive."

Harden seemed to accept her explanation, and his expression told her that he was impressed with how easily she covered what he knew he assumed was her native Russian accent with a fake American one. "The guy's a civilian," he said, shaking his head. "A nobody."

"If he's a nobody, then why are we killing him?"

"Because they told us to," he narrowed his eyes, the distrust from earlier resurfacing. "Look, is there a problem?" He curled his fingers around the handle of his weapon.

"Yeah, there's a problem," she bobbed her head, playing into the bluster of a professional seeing a poorly planned operation and being told to just go with the flow. "I don't work like this. I do my homework. I control the variables. And this is sloppy."

A laughed left his mouth and he shook his head, grinning. "You know, maybe Lazarus wanted to see how well you improvise," he suggested. And then this eyes went dead cold and serious as he glared at her. "You know, maybe I do, too. Now… are you going to kill him or what?"

Beckett held his glare with her own fiery stare for a long beat, trying to prove that she wasn't intimidated, before drawing her gaze away and relenting. She raised the silenced SIG Sauer and cocked it. Then with her other hand, she opened the car door and gracefully sliding out, striding determinedly towards the house, projecting a lot more confidence than she actually felt. As she stalked up the driveway, her mind whirled a mile a minute, trying to plan how to pass this obvious test while not having to kill someone.

XXX

Samson York strolled through the lobby of the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. The white shirt security guards buzzed him through after he displayed his ID card and pressed his hand to the scanner. He rode up the elevator in silence until it arrived at his floor. Disembarking from the lift, he walked briskly down the hallway, passing through the waiting area in front of his office.

His personal assistant was still at her desk.

"Delia, what are you still doing here?" he asked, surprised.

"I knew you were coming back in and wanted to be here in case you needed anything," she said.

He nodded. That's what he appreciated about Delia. She always put duty first. And she could be trusted.

"Very well, follow me," he said as he pushed opened the door to his office. She followed him, waiting as he dropped his briefcase on his desk. "Have the sweepers picked up anything in Kovaks's office?"

"No, sir," she said. "I supervised the sweep, personally, as requested. No bugs were found. Though a TCD-736 was missing from inventory, checked out to the Deputy Director."

"He probably had it with him in London," York said, narrowing his eyes. "Any word on Agent Castle?"

Delia worked at stifling a grin. "No."

He gave her a hard stare, disapproving.

"What!?" she protested, letting the smile break free. "I think it's romantic. Flying all the way across the Atlantic for her."

York let out a harrumph. "I want to be notified the moment his plane lands."

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"Meanwhile, I want ADD Kovaks's desktop unit disconnected from the servers and taken to the Bunker for analysis. And Delia, see to that personally."

"I will, sir," she paused at the door way. "Do you need anything else?"

"A glass of scotch," he grunted, forcing out a light laugh as he smoothed his hand over his bald crown.

Delia gave him a point look, and he shook his head.

"You too?" he grumbled.

She smiled. "Just looking out for you, sir," she answered with a jaunty salute.

He waved her away to her assigned task, knowing that under her charge Kovaks's computer would make it to the Bunker without any security leaks. Delia was very good at her job, dedicated and determined. He sighed. She was so young. She shouldn't be here late at night, doing drone work for an old man like him. She should be out with her friends, enjoying her youth. But she wanted to be here, do the work.

She had a fire inside her, one he'd recognized early, which was why he'd handpicked her for his personal assistant, so he could train and mentor her, nurture that spark. He was grooming her for bigger and better things. He grinned as he settled down behind his desk, preparing for a long work night, contemplating, with no small sense of pride and mirth, that someday they'd all be answering to Delia Peabody.

XXX

It was surprisingly easy to break in.

Beckett slipped around the side of the house, going up and over the ornate wrought iron gate attached to the concrete wall surrounding the backyard. The underwater lights in the pool were on, illuminating the grounds with a pale blue light. She slinked along the edge, as slight as a stalking cat, holding the silenced gun at her side, facing down. Eyes alert, Beckett kept her head on a swivel. The house was dark, save for the flickering light of a TV in what she presumed was a living room.

Walking along the back patio, Beckett padded up to the backdoor and after checking to see if there was any security system, she tried the handle. She pursed her lips and shook her head. It was unlocked. Slipping inside, Beckett shifted her stance, gripping the gun with both hands and holding in out in front of her in the ready position. The weight of the weapon in her hand felt off, the balance all wrong. It was the silencer. Extending out from the muzzle, it changed the firearm's center of gravity. She had to firm up her grip as she stalked through the hallway, heading for the flickering light.

A man sat in an armchair facing the TV. It was set to some 24-hour financial news channel. Talking heads and anchors were droning on about stocks, rises and dips, percentages, when to buy and when to sell. Her target was relaxed, flipping through papers. Brought his work home with him. She could relate with that.

Wiggling her fingers, Beckett licked her lips and released a breath, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. Her mind kept churning, desperate for a way to retain her cover while not killing this man. As far as she was concerned, if the drug ring wanted him dead, then he was valuable to the investigation as a potential source of information, maybe even someone they could turn, have him testify against them.

Holding her breath, she approached. He must have seen her reflection on the TV screen, because the man suddenly jerked up out of the chair.

"Who in the hell are you to—!?" his exclamation died on his lips when he spun around to see her holding a gun aimed at his chest.

"Get on the floor, now!" Beckett ordered. "Face down."

He rushed to obey, eyes wide, terrified. She hated herself for putting that fear in his eyes. She was supposed to protect, not harm. But she had to do this. It was the only way to preserve her cover and keep herself alive.

"I'm a cop," she said, voice lower, less threatening. "You need to do exactly what I say if you want to live." She paused, glanced around to check to see they were alone. "Stay on the floor. Stay quiet."

Lowering her weapon, she stood there for several long second, chest heaving as the adrenalin pumped through her veins. Her eyes flirted all over the place as she tried to improvise a plan on the spot that would protect them both. Alighting on an idea, she hunted for the kitchen. She quickly rifled through the cupboards until she found ketchup. Opening the refrigerator, Beckett surveyed the containers within. She knitted her eyebrows together. Reaching inside she pulled out an unopened jug of pomegranate juice. With those two items in hand, she rushed back to the living room to find the man still lying on the floor, shaking.

"It's going to be okay," she said, kneeling down beside him. "I'm going to need you to lie really still and hold your breath."

Then she got to work, uncapping the ketchup and unscrewing the lid of the bottle of POM. The man arched his neck, shuddering with fear as he watched her take in the living room, setting the scene, using the combination of pomegranate juice and ketchup to simulate blood splatter on the wall besides the TV screen. She then returned to his side.

"Lay still," she repeated. "I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Evan Potter," he choked out.

"All right, Evan," she said after a breath, her eyes flicking all over the place. "Listen to me, I'm a cop. Detective Kate Beckett of the Twelfth Precinct. I'm working undercover within a drug ring, and they just put a hit out on you. We're going to need to stage it to look like I killed you."

"What… I… WHAT?"

"Please, Mr. Potter," she raised her hand. "Calm down. Your life depends on it."

"I… I… okay," he sighed, nodding in surrender. However, he didn't stop shaking.

"We're going to have to make it look like I've killed you, alright?" she explained. "It'll save your life and help me keep my cover."

"I… I don't understand. Why can't you just tell them?"

"They're going to want to see it," Beckett said, knowing it in her gut. Harden didn't trust her, and a photo wouldn't do. He'd need to see it himself. "So, I really need you to trust me right now, Evan. I'm trying to keep you alive. Do you trust me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She shrugged. "I guess not."

She sighed, and then resumed her work, uncapping the ketchup and juice, smearing the mixture over the side of his face, and, grimacing, pouring it out over the white shag carpet, mouthing an apology as she did so, but it was necessary. Sitting back on her haunches, Beckett cocked her head to the side and examined her work. It wasn't that detailed, but with the darkness and the dim light flickering from the TV it should do the trick.

"I'm going to need you to stay as still as possible, Mr. Potter," Beckett repeated. "And hold your breath. Can you do that?"

"I… I think so."

"Good," she put a hand on his shoulder and offered him a reassuring squeeze. "After we leave, I need you to wait five minutes, then call 911, ask for Captain Victoria Gates at the NYPD's Twelfth Precinct. And tell her everything I've told you. Can you say that?"

"Captain Victoria Gates at the NYPD's Twelfth Precinct."  
"Good… good job, Mr. Potter," she encouraged. "Tell her that I'm being held at some compound, I don't know where, but I'll try to get a message out as soon as possible. Can you do that for me, Evan? Can you?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she sighed. "I'm going to stand up now, and fire my weapon. When I leave, stay on the floor in that position and hold your breath for as long as possible. This should work."

"Should?"

"It will," she assured, and then added under her breath as she stood up, "It has too."

Beckett pirouetted around in place, and narrowed her eyes. She was working on the fly, and she needed the scene to pass a basic glance from Harden. The man was a trained killer, so he knew what a hit should look like. She pursed her lips and swallowed.

Careful with her steps, not wanting to mess up her hastily crafted crime scene, Beckett walked back a few paces, and turned on her heels. Yes. During her decade-long career in law enforcement, Beckett had surveyed countless crime scenes. This one wasn't perfect, but in a pinch, it was going to have to do. Flicking her gaze down to the prone Mr. Evan Potter, Beckett prayed that this would work, that her hastily put together deception would be enough to convince Harden, and then she raised the silenced SIG Sauer, aimed… and fired.


	17. Chapter 16

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 16**_

* * *

Detective Esposito trailed after Agents McCord and Hendricks as they stalked out of the elevator on the floor where Elena Markov was being kept after her suicide attempt. He glowered at the back of the senior Justice Department agent's head. Like his commanding officer and colleagues back at the Twelfth Precinct, he felt like the Feds had put too much pressure on the woman to turn on a dangerous drug ring. It was unfair of them to do so, when the young woman was clearly already afraid for her life. The whole thing made him grind his teeth in repressed anger.

The attending doctor was waiting for them at the nursing station, introducing himself as Dr. Bailey. He was a middle-aged African American man with an easy smile and friendly demeanor.

"Take us to Ms. Markov," McCord ordered, and then, as if on an afterthought added, "Please."

"Sure, this way," he gestured and then led the way pass the nurse's station.

McCord and Hendricks walked beside him on the right, while Esposito followed on the left, keeping a watchful, distrusting eye on the Federal agents. Dr. Bailey turned a corner and glanced back at Agent McCord, spotting her out as the one in charge.

"Ms. Markov regained consciousness about an hour ago," he informed them. "She's stable, so we transferred her out of ICU."

"Has she said anything yet?" McCord inquired, narrowing her eyes just a bit.

Bailey shook his head, clearly understanding the true meaning behind her question. "Just that she's glad to be alive."

"So she's lucid?" Hendricks asked.

"Yes," the doctor nodded. "But she's also extremely weak from her ordeal, so please, I'd ask that you limit your time with her as much as possible."

"We need answers," Esposito put in, ignoring a sharp look from McCord. "So, we're going to question her as long as it takes."

Bailey sighed, but nodded, seeming to sense the urgency in them all. "The room is just up here. 3410." He pointed down the hall. "Now, if you excuse me, I need to continue my rounds."

"Of course," McCord inclined her head, and stepped aside as the doctor turned at the next corner, heading towards another section on the floor.

Esposito picked up his pace, squinting as he stared ahead. The chair sitting beside the door to Room 3410 was empty. He glanced at McCord with an irritated scowl.

"I thought you had an agent guarding her?" he demanded.

"We do," Hendricks answered for his partner. "He must be inside."

Esposito shook his head, growing worried. His friend and colleague was out there somewhere, alone and without backup. He didn't like it. Not one bit. And he certainly didn't appreciate Agent McCord's relaxed and cavalier attitude. Quickening his steps, he rushed ahead and pushed the door open.

"Elena Markov, NYPD—"

His words trailed off when he noticed the bed was empty. Tilting his head, his eyes grew wide when he discovered the slumped form of the FBI agent, who should have been guarding her, on the floor, blood pooling around his body.

"Son of a bitch," he exclaimed, crouching down to check for a pulse only to discovered a vicious cut across the man's throat. He pressed his hands down hard, trying to staunch the bleeding.

Hendricks pulled his weapon from his shoulder holster and jerked back, heading for the stairwell, he shouldered the door open and rushed across the threshold. With his free hand, Esposito dug his phone out of his pocket and called it in.

"This is Detective Esposito, we have an officer down at Bellevue," he shouted. "Officer down!"

McCord stepped into the room, squinting her eyes as she surveyed the disarray. Esposito glared up at her. She looked oddly detached to him, despite of the fact one of her agents was crumpled on the floor, bleeding to death from a severe slash to the throat.

Hendricks returned shortly, holstering his weapon as he ducked into the room. "Elena's gone."

McCord nodded as she glanced towards her partner. "Either she attacked him and fled—"

"Or someone else did and they grabbed her," Esposito interrupted, cutting a dirty look in her direction. His chest flared with indignation and concern. "If they took Elena that means Beckett's cover is blown. She's as good as dead."

McCord met his reprimanding gaze unflinchingly. "You don't give your colleague enough credit, Detective," she answered his accusation. She nodded, as if trying to convince herself. "She can handle herself. She's made for sterner stuff than you realize."

"You better be right," Esposito grumbled, sinking back on his haunches when the weak pulse he'd initially felt from the unconscious FBI agent faded away. He shook his head and sighed, glancing down at the blood on his hands, cursing in Spanish. "You better be right."

XXX

"Pilots say we're on final approach," Rajko announced as he returned from the cockpit, his hands moving across the seat headrests as he worked his way further into the passenger cabin of the Gulfstream jet.

Kilmer glanced up from his phone, his features blank of any emotions. "Good," he said. "Transport?"

"Already on it, sir," Rajko confirmed. "They'll meet us on the tarmac. Piotr will drive," he added, glancing briefly over at the large bull of a man seated in one of the other seats.

Kilmer nodded in approval. "Good," he said, narrowing his eyes as he flicked his wrist up to check the time, having already adjusted the watch to US Eastern time. "I have a meeting with a contact shortly. Some… developments have occurred that require my attention."

According to his source on the ground, the second operation going on in New York had experienced some interesting issues, even if they weren't aware of it yet. It appeared that Detective Kate Beckett had infiltrated the drug ring that the Consortium had been running through a proxy to generate some capital. From what his source could tell him, the drug cartel wasn't yet aware of the breach, but that was only a matter of time. They'd learn of it soon enough, of that he had no doubt. Fortunately, from what little information his contact was able to gather, it wasn't yet clear just how much the bitch cop knew about the operation and its ties to the Consortium, or whether she even possessed knowledge of the global cabal.

She would, Kilmer surmised, bitterly. Eventually.

If she didn't know of it yet, she would soon, especially with Agent Rick Castle in route from London. He smiled thinly. Doing business with the Consortium had some advantages, providing him with access to their vast intelligence network, from which he'd learned of his foe's travel plans.

Rajko took a seat across from him, arching his neck to look back at the bruised and battered Gavin Huxley, hands bound and mouth muffled. "Why did we bring him? We already got the codes out of him. And Sébastien was able to get the information you wanted."

Kilmer cast a disinterested glanced back at the shuddering man. "He's still useful," was all he shared. "And that is all you need to know."

His right-hand man shrugged his shoulders, accepting that explanation, and turned back, settling into his seat and shifting to stare out the window. Kilmer smiled. That's why he liked him.

"I've never been to America before," Rajko asserted.

"It's nothing special," Kilmer stated blandly, squinting as he glanced down at his phone, reading the latest message from his contact, confirming their appointment. "It's just another place, with people, money, and power." He sent a reply back with his verification passcode, and then pocket his phone, cocking his head as he followed his subordinate's lead and glanced out the window. "Still, we'll pick up one of those famous New York pizzas on our way to the meet up."

Across from him, Rajko smiled. "Yes, sir."

XXX

She was right.

After setting up the scene, Beckett left the way she had entered, slipping out the back door and slinked, like a cat, through the yard towards the ornate wrought iron gate. From that side, she was able to unlatched the lock and slip through. She picked up her pace, making her way around to the front of the suburban house. Hiking down the driveway, Beckett opened the backdoor in the awaiting car and slid into the seat.

"It's done," she announced in a cool, professional voice, betraying none of the anxiety that pumped through her veins. She risked as glance at Harden, and she knew she was right.

"Show me."

Her eyebrows knitted together, playing up the incredulous shock. "What? No," she shook her head. "We don't have time for this."

Harden withdrew his gun from its holster and casually aimed it at her. His face pinched with irritation.

"I said, show me!" he growled, low and threatening. "Now."

Yes. She was right. Just as she thought. But held up her hands to placate him, and then reached for the door handle, reopening the back door. She climbed out, as Harden exited from his side of the car. Beckett kept a wary eye on him. His weapon remained available, held loosely at his side. She knew from her previous observations that his reaction time was fast. She dare not risk anything.

"This way," she jerked her, and after a quick breath to steel her nerves, turned her back on him.

She stalked back up the driveway and led the way around the back of the house. She hadn't completely closed the gate, so they slipped through into the backyard, and walked around the illuminated pool and the patio to the sliding glass door. The entire time she could feel Harden's eyes on her, distrusting, suspicious. She pursed her lips and maintained the role, praying that Mr. Potter had heeded her advice and remained on the floor in the position she had posed him in.

As they walked down the dim hallway, Beckett was the first to glimpse the scene. Her chest unclenched and her breath ease when she saw Evan Potter was still there, right where she'd left him. She stepped into the living room and moved off to the side, stopping as she tilted her head to watch Harden survey the scene.

He squinted his eyes in the dim light as he stared down at Potter, who was lying face down on the shag carpet, the feigned blood she'd quickly concocted pooling around him. His gaze snapped up to the blood spatter along the wall besides the TV. Beckett allowed herself a minuscule smile, taking pride in her work. The burst of blood splattered across the wall did look convincing. And thankfully, it appeared from his expression, Harden was convinced.

"Like I said," Beckett announced, putting a touch of smugness into her voice as she stepped up alongside Harden.

He nodded.

She cut a sharp look at him, glaring unblinkingly at him with cold, hard eyes. "I'm done auditioning," she said. "You tell Lazarus that if he wants to play games, then the deal is off."

Harden cocked his head to the side, and eyed her for a long moment, the suspicion still there, but there was something else there now. He was impressed.

"Yeah," he concurred, shifting to take one last look at the scene. "Yeah. We should get back."

And he then turned, leading the way back down the hall. Beckett lingered for a second, eyes cast down at Potter, praying that he followed her instructions of contacting the Twelfth Precinct once they left. With that, Beckett let out a soft sigh, and spun around, following Harden out of the house.

XXX

The joint operational task force between the NYPD and the Justice Department had now spilled out of the conference room and into the bullpen. Two white boards had been set up, one of them depicting the original murders that Captain Dean Fowler from Narcotics had set up on the drug ring. The second board showed Elena Markov and Detective Kate Beckett. Crime scene photos from Bellevue had also been added to it, along with notes on the interviews with Dr. Bailey and the attending nurses.

Detective Esposito stood off to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he glowered at Agent McCord as she spoke with Captain Fowler, the two of them surveying the latest additions to the second board. He turned when his commanding officer strolled up alongside him.

"How are you doing, Detective?" she asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

He grunted. "This isn't good, sir. None of it. We've been played."

"By Elena Markov, or…," she tilted her head toward the Federal agent, "by Agent McCord."

He grunted again, then turned to look at her. "Both."

Gates nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with that, Detective, and I don't like it."

Ryan slammed his phone down at his desk, causing the pair of them to glance over. He jerked his head around like a rabbit, and then spotted them. Gates gestured, and Esposito sighed, but relented, stalking after his commander as they rejoined the gathering in front of the white boards.

"Just got off with the hospital security again," Ryan said, after waiting for them to join the group. "Building's locked down. We've got teams going through but there's no sign of Elena."

"We still have no idea who this woman really is," Gates said, shaking her head.

"I'm afraid we do," Hendricks announced, stepping over with a tablet in his hand. He stood before the assembled group, and turned the screen to them, playing a video that showed Elena Markov leaving the hospital room. "The officer's throat was cut in the exact same manner as the murdered drug dealers. Same angle, same left handed stroke, favoring the carotid."

McCord nodded, as if it all made sense now. "That's what those text messages meant about packages being delivered. She wasn't a courier for the ring."

Esposito let out a curse. "She was their contract killer."

"A contract killer?" Gates jerked as she turned to look at Esposito, before spinning around to pin McCord with a ferocious glare. "That's who Beckett is out there impersonating and you didn't know!?"

Remaining calm and collected, McCord simply held up a hand. "We're doing everything we can, Captain Gates."

"Yeah," she planted her hands on her hips and straightened her back, bringing forth her commanding presence. Esposito watched the transformation with a tidy bit of admiration and fear. "Well, it's not enough, Agent McCord." She jabbed a finger at the agent. "My detective is out there all on her own without any knowledge of this."

Ryan's desk phone rang and he turned away, looking disappointed to be missing the confrontation. Esposito tracked him as he walked over to his desk and answered. A six sense that existed between partners immediately alerted Esposito that something had come in.

"Captain Gates!" Ryan shouted from his desk. "We've got something."

Everyone spun around and Gates led the pack over to Ryan's desk. Esposito sidestepped around McCord, offering her a sharp glare, before sidling up beside his partner.

"What've you got, bro?" he asked.

Ryan shifted. "Patrol just reported back from a scene from the home of a Mr. Evan Potter. He says that a woman matching Beckett's description claiming to be an NYPD detective broke into his house, and told him they needed to fake his death and make it look like she killed him. She also instructed him to contact the Twelfth, specifically you, Captain Gates. By name."

"What was his name again?" Gates asked.

"Evan Potter," he repeated.

Gates nodded. "Have patrol bring him here," she instructed, and then turned to Esposito. "Look him up, Detective. I want to know who he is and why the drug ring would want him killed before he gets here."

"Yes, sir," Esposito moved to obey her orders. He hurried around his desk and started a search on his computer.

"Detective Ryan," McCord spoke up, shifting closer to his partner's desk.

"Yes?"  
"Did Detective Beckett say anything else to him?"

"Um…," Ryan's face scrunched up as he thought. "Yeah. According to Mr. Potter, she told him she was in some kind of compound. She didn't know where, but that she would try to get a message out ASAP."

Agent McCord nodded, exchanging a look with a cross Gates. "Well, Captain, at least we know she's alive."

"Cold comfort," Esposito grumbled as he initiated the search on Mr. Potter. He was surprised when Gates didn't reprimand him immediately. She must be as pissed as him at the Federal agents.

McCord simply raised an eyebrow. "Detective Beckett is a damn good cop," she asserted. "Don't sell her short. She'll figure out a way to let us know what's going on. And when she does, we'll get her out."

A scoff issued from Gates as she rolled her eyes. "You don't need to tell us, Agent McCord," she said. "I know—we all know—just how good Detective Beckett is at her job. And none of us 'sell her short' in her abilities. As for you… you've handled this case poorly from the start. You should have run a proper search on your source, if you had we would have known who Elena Markov really was, and Detective Beckett wouldn't have walked in with one arm tied behind her back. So, Agent McCord, if it's all the same to you, I think my people will take it from here." She spun away from McCord before the agent could respond.

A smile touched Esposito's lips as his captain approached him.

"What've got for me, Detective?"

XXX

She leaned back in her seat, outwardly appearing relaxed and calm. Inside, however, was a different matter altogether. Worry consumed her, twisting her stomach into knots. Evan Potter's crime scene was hastily constructed. And though Harden appeared to buy it at the time, Beckett couldn't really tell with the man. She was usually so good at reading people, but he was a tough nut to crack. Even if he was mollified by what he'd seen at Potter's home, there was still that vibe of suspicion radiating off him on the drive back to the mansion.

Also worrisome was the fact she wasn't hooded for the drive. Either she was trusted now, or she wasn't going to live long enough for it to matter that she saw where they went. Despite that thought, Beckett kept her eyes wide and alert, careful to watch for anything that could be used to identify her location and bring these people to justice. Her prospects may appear bleak, but she would operate on the assumption, until proven otherwise, that her cover was secure and she would survive. She had to think that, because to think otherwise was just unacceptable.

Harden turned the car into a driveway and towards an ornate front gate. There was a light mist carpeting the ground. The car's headlights shot through it, like a searchlight. Beckett squinted her eyes as she stared out into the darkness, catching a plaque mounted on a pillar stationed on the right-hand side of the gate.

It read: _501 Shelton Drive_.

The address didn't ring any bells to her, so she suspected they were outside the city proper. Beckett had always been a city girl, having grown up in the Big Apple. Besides her time at Stanford and when she studied abroad, or when she spent time in her family's cabin in upstate New York, she rarely left New York City unless strictly necessary.

The front gates opened, and Beckett spied two guards standing on either side of the driveway beyond, each armed with semi-automatic weapons. The guards ease back as Harden directed the car forward and up the sloping curve of the driveway, up towards the mansion. Beckett shifted in her seat, tapping down on her emotions and reining them in, keeping them behind a mask of cool calm, projecting the confident assassin she was impersonating.

They all had it so wrong when it came to Elena Markov. Beckett wondered if that were really true. Did Agent McCord know the truth? And if so, why did she withhold such valuable information? Paranoia, she reckoned. There was a lot of that going around right now, especially after the assassination of the vice president. Even drug kingpins were paranoid, or just cautious. The grounds of the gated mansion were littered with well-armed men, standing guard or patrolling.

The car eased to a stop in a courtyard near the front entrance of the impressive building. Beckett unclipped her seatbelt and opened the door once Harden killed the engine. She glanced over at him as they climbed out. He nodded, and she turned, stepping with confidence around the courtyard. The double doors part and Mr. Jones emerged from the interior. He jogged down the front steps, looking pleased to see them.

"So, how did it go?" he asked when they met by the foot of the steps.

Beckett smirked, adding a touch of smugness to it, and held her head high, meeting his eyes. "The package was delivered without any issues," she spoke, playing as if she was masking her native Russian accent.

Jones grinned, clapping his hands, nodding in approval. "Good," he declared. "Good. Now… clean yourself up. Lazarus wants to see you."

The flash of surprise on Harden's face was brief but visible. He wasn't able to hide it long enough. On a look from Jones, he pursed his lips and bowed his head. Shifting towards Beckett, Harden gestured towards the opened front doors. After a moment of hesitation, Beckett obeyed the unsaid instructions and marched up the steps, pausing in the threshold as she waited for her guide, who lingered to have a hushed discussion with Mr. Jones. She crossed her arms and anxiously tapped her foot until Harden offered a slight nod to Mr. Jones and hiked up the front steps to join her.

"This way," he said, jerking his head forward.

Beckett squinted her eyes into slits, putting up a haughty aura, but followed him nonetheless up the grand staircase. She kept her posture straight, shoulders squared, as she climbed the staircase behind Harden. His expression was hard, bordering on aggrieved. He didn't like being made to play chaperone, but he followed orders. It was clear from what little time she'd spent with the man that his loyalty never wavered, even if he questioned the decision of those above him. Harden led her back to the room she'd been put in previously, and then after exchanging a nod of respect, he left and closed the door behind him. Curious, though, Beckett noted that this time he did not lock the door.

Alone at last, Beckett released the dam, and let out a long sigh, relaxing her shoulders and finally allowing all the tension drain from her body. She scrubbed her hands down her face, and carded her fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes and worked at repressing the swell of tears that wanted out. Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to escape past her ribcage.

Shaking her head, and letting out a watery sigh, Beckett strolled over to the ensuite bathroom attached to the luxuriously furnished bedroom. Turning the knob, she stood before the porcelain sink and cupped her hands under the faucet, relishing the cold water as it pooled in her palms. Closing her eyes, Beckett splashed the water into her face as she worked her jaw, shoving down the rising swing of emotions. She had to shut them out, keep them locked up if she were to survive this undercover assignment. She'd already well exceeded her original mandate, and was now operating strictly on instinct.

She glanced up and stared hard at her reflection, meeting her haunted gaze in the mirror above the sink. She took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. Belatedly, she remembered Harden never disarmed her. She still had the pistol he'd handed her in the car before sending her out to kill Evan Potter.

She held it up, released the magazine and checked it, seeing it was fully loaded, minus the three bullets she used in staging the crime scene at Mr. Potter's suburban home. Once more, Beckett found herself praying that man followed her instructions to contact Captain Gates and relate her words. Despite her warm reception earlier when Mr. Jones greeted them in the courtyard outside, Beckett had a sinking feeling it wasn't to last. Reloading the magazine back into the handgun, Beckett then tucked it into the waistband of her slacks.

Her eyes once again found her reflection staring back at her. She stared long and hard back at herself, trying to see the woman—the cop—she knew she was.

"You're getting out of here alive," she told herself, not sure she actually believed it.

The sound of the bedroom door banging open startled her and she jerked around, eyes wide as a drunk blonde girl, all giggly and unstable, in a party dress with a very short skirt, rushed into the ensuite, dropping her bag on the counter.

"Oh, sorry!" she hiccupped and laughed. "I really have to pee." The young woman made a pinched face. "Didn't know they had anyone in this room!" She bounced on her high-heels and gestured towards the toilet. "Do you mind?"

"Um…," Beckett stood there for a moment, jaw hanging open in shock at the unexpected intrusion. "No. It's fine."

The blonde giggled gratefully, already working her panties down below the hem of her short skirt as she raced for the toilet, squatting down and slamming the door shut that separated the toilet from the rest of the ensuite bathroom. _Rich people and their fancy bathrooms_, Beckett thought with a shake of her head, having found it odd when she'd first seen how the toilet had its own separate room attached the rest of the bathroom during her earlier stay.

While Miss Blondie did her business, Beckett's eyes alighted on the discarded purse. She rushed over to the bag, honing in on the iPhone tucked inside. A deranged laughed almost escape her lips when she discovered the phone was locked, but she managed to contain it to a simple delighted grin. She couldn't believe her luck. However, she didn't have time to make a call.

"Great gig, huh?" Blondie hiccupped and giggled from inside the toilet room.

"Yeah, it's amazing," Beckett answered absently, head bowed as she flicked opened the iPhone's messaging app, punching in the number for Esposito's cellphone. She'd made it a habit of memorizing her colleagues' phone numbers. It paid to be prepared. Anything could happen out in the field and she couldn't relay on her own smart phone to keep track of numbers. And she knew Esposito would be the most likely not to ignore a text from an unknown number.

"I don't know who these guys are," Blondie continued, "but they sure do like to spend money." She added a little squeal at the end that had Beckett cringing.

A solid knock came from the doorjamb back out in the room proper, startling Beckett, causing her fingers to slip, almost losing hold of the phone. She managed just a few more letters before she heard approaching footsteps. Biting her lower lip, she frowned down at the line of text, knowing it wasn't enough, but under the present circumstances it was probably the best she could manage. Quickly, before the intruder arrived, Beckett pressed send and dropped the phone back into the purse. Then, snatching up a nearby towel, she pretended to be in the midst of drying her hands.

Catching movement in the corner of her eye, she glanced up to see Mr. Jones standing in the threshold between the bedroom and ensuite. His expression revealed nothing, however he seemed slightly anxious.

"Come on," he announced. "He's waiting."

Reluctantly, disappointed she wasn't able to send out a more detailed text message to Esposito, Beckett dropped the washcloth down on the countertop and followed him out of the ensuite and into the hallway. Tilting her head, she casually glanced around, still seeing the same guards stationed at either end of the long corridor. A knot in her gut unraveled when she noticed that Harden wasn't around. It was just her and Mr. Jones.

He smiled and stepped aside, holding out a hand in a gesture for her to proceed him. "This way."

She turned, head first, then her torso and hips, and moved in the direction he'd indicated. He followed behind her, the tap of their footsteps echoing off the marble flooring. They marched through the low light until they reached the end of the hall. The armed guard manning an opened door there flicked his eyes towards Mr. Jones for instruction. Jones gave a slight nod, and the thug stepped aside, letting them through.

Inside Beckett found herself walking down a smaller, narrow passage, only ten yards at most, before encountering another door. The man with a thick neck guarding this one immediately stepped aside and opened it for them when they arrived. Narrowing her eyes, Beckett stared down a dimly lit flight of stairs that lead down into the dark.

"You keep him in the basement?" she asked, almost disbelieving.

Standing behind her, Mr. Jones glanced over her shoulder and chuckled. "He likes it there. He thinks it suits him," he explained, then inclined his head. "After you."

Beckett took a quick breath, then took the first step down, descending the stone steps into the cool, dark basement. As she approached the bottom, the low rumble of some sort of machine, like a washing machine grew louder and louder. The foundations looked old, with brick and mortar, covered in fading, peeling paint. The temperature dropped the further she went, like spelunking in a cave.

Two armed men stood at the base of the stairs, shifting on their feet, both wearing bored expressions. As she turned around the corner, Beckett stopped, eyebrows raising as she saw a long row of half-naked women, dressed only in their undergarments, seated at a long table. Piled on the table were stacks of money—so much money—and endless counting machines. It was then that she realized these were the women she'd seen being ushered into the mansion earlier that evening. She'd been wrong. She had assumed it was some sort of trafficking ring. Still could involve that, she reminded herself, but this right here was what the outfit was really about.

Mr. Jones stepped out around her, grinning from ear to ear. He chuckled and spread his arms out wide as if to encompass the entire room. "What's the matter?" he laughed, his eyes alighted with amusement. "You've never seen a counting room before?"

Beckett blinked twice, realizing she hadn't been able to hide the shock from her face. "Yes," she answered after paused, bobbing her head. "but never to this scale."

Nodding in understanding, Mr. Jones smiled. "Lazarus is a man of enormous appetites," he said by way of explanation. He tilted his head, signaling her to follow.

He led the way past the women counting and sorting the money, binding it into stacks. Beckett glanced down as they walked, surveying the operation.

"I'm impressed you've been able to hide this from the Feds," Beckett raised her voice over the roar of the counting machines.

Jones chuckled, arching his neck to glance back at her as he continued forward. "You don't know that half of it."

They continued in silence after that, and Beckett pursed her lips, eyebrows knitting together as she worked at trying to comprehend the true scale of what she was seeing. Countless half-naked women on her left side and on her right stood floor to ceiling shelves, holding stacks and stacks of money. This wasn't some upstart drug ring muscling in on new territory and expanding its reach. No. This was a well-oiled machine.

Nearing the end of the long room, Beckett squinted in the dim light at a white board mounted on the wall. She wasn't sure what she was looking at, routing numbers and debts, perhaps. It wasn't clear. A thug with dreadlocks hanging down to his waist sat a desk with small lamp, rifling through what looked like blank checks. They stopped and Beckett frowned, hearing the distant sounds of agonizing screams. Mr. Jones pursed his lips and glanced back at her, holding up a hand.

"Wait here."

Nodding, Beckett shifted to give him access in the confined space and then loitered there after he disappeared through the door, casually glancing about as if she were simply killing time before being called in. On her second go around, she discovered Dreadlock staring at her with a curious expression, and she returned his gaze, hardening her eyes. He shrugged, and turned back to his work. Squinting, Beckett craned her neck to get a look at what else was on the desk beside blank checks.

No. She'd been wrong. The checks hadn't been blanks. Dreadlock had a ledger laid out in front of him, marking down payments and deposits, with a code system that was simple yet complex enough she couldn't decipher on a cursory glance. Dreadlock was cutting checks. Cocking her head, Beckett shifted her gaze over. The check he was currently working on was payable to something called 'Future Forward'. She frowned. That sounded like some sort of political action committee that helped fund political campaigns.

Her mind immediately went to Bracken. The bastard who had ordered the hit on her mother was currently the presidential front runner. A scowl worked its way across her features, but before she could dwell on the prospect, Mr. Jones was emerging from behind the door and beckoning her forward.

"He's ready," he announced. "Come in."

Beckett ducked her head and slipped through the doorway. The room on the other side had bare concrete walls, bathed in shadows. The only light came from two slit windows high up on the left-hand wall, and a single desktop lamp positioned on the corner of an elegant antique desk that looked out of place in this dank, dark room. The wet floor still showed evidence of the blood that they had been trying to wash down the drain that gurgled in the center of the room.

"I apologize for the delay," came a deep, booming voice. Powerful. Commanding. "I had to resolve a business matter."

Narrowing her eyes in the dim light, Beckett glanced towards the source, seeing the impressive silhouette of a large man in the shadows. His back was to her, but she caught the glimpse of a diamond encrusted gold ring as he wiped his hands on a bloody towel. Flirting her eyes down, she spotted a gun on the desk. Tilting her chin up, she knitted her eyebrows together as she tried to make out his features, but he lingered in the shadows, obscuring his identity. But there was something about his voice that she recognized, something oddly familiar. The memory of it tugged at her consciousness, yet she could quite place it.

"Of course," she acknowledged his explanation, bowing her head in respect, playing the role expected of her.

"I don't usually do this, meet like this," he continued, tossing the bloody rag and reaching for a decanter of brandy, removing the glass stopper and tipping some of the amber liquid into a tumbler. "But for you I'll make an exception. Between our needs and your skillset, this could be a very profitable arrangement."

Mr. Jones stood off to the side, nodding, looking happy and pleased, delighted with their future prospects.

Beckett hesitated, still stuck on trying to place the familiar deep voice. "I agree."

"Good," deep voice intoned. "Good. So, now that we've met," he continued, sampling the liquid and turning around to step into the light. "Why don't we formalize our arrangement?" His voice trailed off as his eyes met hers.

Beckett's blood immediately ran cold with horrible recognition. She tensed her jaw, trying to stop it from dropping. Her heart pulsed wildly at the knowledge that her cover had just been blown, and that she was most likely very, very dead now. Her whole body deflated with the inevitability of it.

Vulcan Simmons.

She recalled him well, taunting her in the box, calling her mother names, implying Johanna Beckett deserved what she got for intruding into Washington Heights.

_Bled out in an alley like the trash she was_.

_Rich bitch from uptown on safari in the Heights. Somebody should have warned her not to feed or tease the animals._

_ If they had, she might not have gotten eaten. From what I hear though, she was pretty tasty_.

Beckett remembered that interrogation like it was yesterday. Her blood had boiled at the jeers and insults, thrown out so cavalierly with mirth and relish that she had lost all her self-restraint, grabbing Simmons by the collar and shoving him up hard against the two-way mirror, causing the glass to crack and break. It had taken both Ryan and Esposito to drag her off him. Montgomery had been pissed at her and had tossed her off the case—_her_ case—and in the end, forced her to go rogue to save the boys.

Simmons cocked his head as he stared at her, an almost amused smile working its way across his smug face.

"You're not Elena," he declared.

Mr. Jones frowned, cutting his gaze back to her. "Wha—What do you mean?"  
Simmons ignored his subordinate, keeping his cold eyes locked on her. "I know you."

"No," Beckett tried to bluff, knowing it was futile. "No, I don't think you do."

Simmons shook his head, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "No, no, no," his deep voice filled the room. "I never forget a face." He put the tumbler down on the desk and stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. "Especially a beautiful face such as yours, Detective Beckett."

Cover blown, Beckett reached for the gun she'd tucked into the waistband of her slacks, but before she could draw it, Mr. Jones was on her, pressing the barrel of a pistol to her temple with one hand, and clutching her left forearm with the other.

"No you don't," he clucked his tongue.

She gasped, eyes wide, knowing for sure now that she was as good as dead. This was not how she wanted to go. She had so much more she wanted to do. Castle. She blinked rapidly, and thought of the handsome rogue who had turned her life upside down and given her a wonderful glimpse at a glorious future. A future that was now in jeopardy.

"She's a cop?" Mr. Jones inquired, frantic, glancing at his boss.

Simmons stalked forward and snatched her weapon away. "Homicide," he confirmed. "Out of the Twelfth." He turned back to her, assessing her with keen, wicked eyes. "Last time I saw you, you tried to put me through a wall. Accused me of murdering your momma. And from the look on that gorgeous face, you remember me. Don't you, Detective?"

Beckett swallowed thickly, yet still unflinchingly met his gaze. "Vulcan Simmons," she acknowledged with a barely-there nod. "You're Lazarus?"


	18. Chapter 17

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 17**_

* * *

The black Escalade slowed to a crawl as it parked alongside the curb. Sitting in the backseat, Kilmer leaned back and tilted his head to the side as the rear passenger door opened across from him. An attractive woman with brunette hair and a slender build, dressed all in black, climbed up into the SUV and joined him. She was graceful and elegant, befitting her codename: The Swan. The Consortium and its penchant for codenames was often so very droll. But with her, they hit the nail on the head. He smiled at her and nodded. As soon as she closed the door, the driver turned on the signal and merged back into traffic.

A comfortable silence passed between them before he broke it.

"The operation is going well, I hear," he commented.

She smirked, slow and seductive. "_Da_," she concurred, voice thick with her native Russian accent, which she then dropped completely when she continued. "For the most part, yes. But the big boys aren't happy with you turning Clover in."

Kilmer scowled as he glanced away. "He had already fulfilled the contract. The model is dead. That was all he was required to do. And he did it. The rest was just Lazarus being paranoid. Understandable, I'll grant, but unnecessary, considering the current circumstances."

"About that," the Swan said, eyeing him warily.

Kilmer growled. "What now?"

"Lazarus wants to settle a score with Rick Castle," she said, watching him with keen eyes, aware of his beef with the CIA officer. "You know that the NYPD sent Detective Beckett undercover in a foolish attempt to infiltrate a drug ring."

"And I should care why?"

"It's one of ours, as you're quite aware," the Swan explained, looking miffed by his disinterested manner. "Her cover was flimsy. She won't last long."

"I repeat, why should I care?" Kilmer questioned, cocking his head as he stared at her. He had no love for Detective Beckett. She had been nothing but a thorn in his side, Lazarus's as well, so he didn't understand what the problem was. "Let them deal with her then. Good riddance, I say."

The Swan sighed. "Lazarus is inclined to agree with you, but he loathes being in debt to Rick Castle," she said. "I'm to facilitate a correction in that regard."

"Huh?"

She gave him a baleful look. "I need transport."

He chuckled, darkly. "I'm not a chauffeur service, Swan. I have my own plans."

"Lazarus is willing to compensate you for any inconveniences," she announced.

Kilmer pursed his lips. He liked that. The idea of Lazarus owing him was something that could come in handy. He nodded. "Very well, Swan," he agreed. "Where would you like me to take you?"

"Scarsdale," she answered. "Take me to Scarsdale. And quickly, if you don't mind," she added after checking her digital wristwatch. "The clock's ticking."

"Right," Kilmer smiled thinly. He might not agree with Lazarus's move here, but he was willing to see how it all played out. It could be entertaining. He turned and leaned forward, addressing those in the front seat. "Rajko?"

"Sir?" Rajko Kápa responded from the front passenger seat.

"Take us to Scarsdale. As fast as possible."

"Sir," he bobbed his head, and signaled to Piotr. The big man behind the wheel nodded.

That done, Kilmer relaxed back into his seat and glanced over at his companion. The Swan offered a tight smile, and he inclined his head. Yes. He thought. This would be fun to watch.

XXX

Agent Martin Danberg had wanted to interrogate the Colin Hunt imposter himself, but he recognized that he was too close, his personal connection to the case was more a liability when it came to questioning the man. He needed someone objective, without involvement. Director York had trusted him to realize that himself, which was why he had put him in charge of the prisoner. So, utilizing considerable self-restraint, he handed the case of to another agent. Susan Ortiz was a good woman and a great officer, one of the Agency's top profilers and expert interrogators, with numerous degrees in psychology and various related fields. She would get the man to crack. And if not, well… he already had Director York's authorization to move the imposter to a black site for enhanced interrogation, should it become necessary.

It was petty of him, but he hoped it became necessary.

He checked his phone as he rode the elevator up to the fourth floor of the Twelfth Precinct. Director York wanted an update on the Lazarus case ASAP, so Danberg saw it as a perfect excuse to extricate himself from temptation and rejoin the joint Justice Department and NYPD operation. Checking his wristwatch, he knew Detective Beckett should have long since returned from her undercover exercise with information on the drug ring.

When the elevator bell chimed and the door rattled open on the Twelfth Precinct's homicide floor, Agent Danberg found himself in the midst of chaotic activity. Stepping around the metal lattice work that separated the entrance from the bullpen, he noted that the whiteboard from the conference room had been moved out to join another one in the center of the room. His eyes widened. He was startled to see a photo of Kate Beckett displayed next to that of Elena Markov.

Scanning the room, he honed in on one of the detective's colleague. It was the younger of the two, the one with Irish heritage. Kevin Ryan. Danberg strolled across the hectic bullpen to join the detective by his desk. Ryan jerked his head up at his approach.

"Where's Beckett?" Danberg demanded.

"You haven't heard?" the youthful man's blue eyes widened.

Danberg shook his head in response.

Pursing his lips, Ryan swallowed thickly, then informed him on the latest developments in the operation. Elena Markov wasn't some simple courier for the drug ring, but a hired assassin. She had killed the FBI agent guarding her, and fled the hospital. It appeared the suicide attempt had been a ruse to get the FBI to move her out of the secured safe house and to a place that would be easier for her to escape from.

"Beckett went under without all the facts," Danberg surmised. And then frowned, glancing around the bullpen again, his eyes lingering on her photo displayed on the whiteboard, and the significance of that. He pursed his lips. Castle was going to go apeshit when he found out. "She hasn't returned, has she?"

Ryan nodded in confirmation. "The meet-up went all wrong, it was a set up. Beckett was abducted, but we think that was always the intention. These people thought they were dealing with an assassin. Still, at that point we had no reason to suspect her cover had been blown."

"Until Elena Markov escaped custody," Danberg put in.

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan bobbed his head, the worry for his friend oozing off him. He was buzzing with anxious energy. "Captain Gates and Esposito are questioning a Mr. Potter right now. Guy claimed a woman matching Beckett's description broke into his house and told him they had to fake his death, then proceeded to stage a crime scene, had him lie face down on the rug, covered in pomegranate juice and ketchup, making it look like she'd killed him."

"How long ago was that?"

"An hour… now two," he corrected, checking his watch. "So we're assuming her cover was still—"

It was at this point that Captain Victoria Gates and Detective Javier Esposito emerged from the interrogation room, they both looked grim. They spotted Danberg and stalked up to greet him.

"Nice of you to join us, Agent Danberg," Esposito glowered.

"Detective," Gates admonished sharply, then turned to him with a conciliatory expression. "We could use your help, Agent Danberg."

He nodded, eager to assist. Detective Beckett was far more than just his friend's paramour. She was one of the best law enforcement officers he'd worked with inside the United States. And, on a personal note, he genuinely liked her. He would even bring in the CIA resources at his disposal to help find her if necessary. He owed her that much for helping stop Sophia Turner last year. "Anything I can do, I will."

"Great, that's very much appreciated," Gates nodded warmly.

Detective Esposito's phone buzzed. He excused himself from the group, and pulled it out of his pocket to answer. Danberg kept his eyes on the Latino, sensing something vital to the case had just landed in their lap judging by the other man's sudden shift in posture.

"Yo guys!" he exclaimed, spinning back around and holding up his phone. "It's her."

Confused looks flashed his way until they caught sight of the iPhone's screen. The text message was incomplete, but from having read and reviewed Detective Kate Beckett's file on multiple occasions, Danberg recognized the initial series of numbers displayed at the beginning of the message: _41319_.

"It's from an unknown number," Esposito explained. "But that's her badge number. It's gotta be her."

Danberg was inclined to agree, and said so. "I concur with Detective Esposito," he asserted, glancing at Captain Gates, who narrowed her eyes as she leaned forward to examine the message displayed on the small phone screen.

"_Addr is 5_," Gates read, and then speculated, "She was trying to send us an address."

"Looks like she got cut off," Ryan commented, looking grim.

"Run that phone number," Gates ordered, expression stern and determined. "Find out who owns it and find out where it is."

Danberg was already removing his cell from his pocket. "I can help you with that, Captain," he announced, already calling Agent Riley. The crackerjack computer specialist he'd worked with for over three years was one of the best in the business, and Danberg knew that he would be able to trace and track the unknown phone number quicker and more efficiently with the equipment at his disposal than anything the NYPD had to offer.

Esposito proffered his phone, and Danberg accepted with a small nod of acknowledgement. When Riley answered after the third ring, he immediately set the tech analyst on the task that would hopefully lead them to Detective Kate Beckett. Sound and alive.

XXX

Cold.

It was cold and dark.

Her eyes were shut tight, her lungs protesting as she fought the natural instinct to inhale a deep breath. She struggled, her entire body rebelling against her as she thrashed in the water. The hand clamped around her neck was unrelenting, merciless, keeping her submerged as she bucked and jerked, failing to free herself from the tight grasp. Her lungs ached, demanding. Her body wanted to surrender. But she kept her mouth shut, using all her will power.

Finally, after several long seconds, the fiend pulled her back. Water went flying, her soaked hair stuck at awkward angles to her face as she gasped for breath. Her chest heaved and shook as she filled her lungs. Blinking, Beckett flirted her eyes around the dark, dim room, seeing the faces of Harden and Mr. Jones watching and waiting, like dogs, obedient to their master's instructions.

Vulcan Simmons hovered behind her, a mean look on his face. "Let's do without the Kabuki theater, Detective," he snarled, yet somehow still seemed refined despite the menace in his voice. "It's undignified." She panted, flirted her eyes back to him. His eyes hardened. "Tell me what I want to know and I'll give you a proper death without all this messy suffering."

She wanted to snap back at him, curse, spit in his face, but all she could do was cough and sputter. Her body betrayed her, folding in, and she tipped forward, bending over the tub of water, chunks of ices bobbing in the undulating surface. Clumps of wet hair hung down around her face, but she couldn't do anything to control the coughing fit.

Simmons grunted in displeasure, and jerked up to his feet, he grabbed the back of a chair and twirled it around, allowing him to sit in front of her. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, meeting her at her level. Beckett shook and shivered, lungs expanding and collapsing with each desperate breath. She'd survived this once before, Beckett reminded herself. A year ago, the South African mercenary Clyde Pendergast had tortured her just like this to get Castle to talk. She had made it through that, so she could make it through this.

"Now," Simmons spoke once she'd calmed somewhat. "What was your mission? And What do they know about Lazarus?"

Lazarus? Beckett was confused. She thought Vulcan Simmons was Lazarus.

Beckett clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth as she defiantly flicked her eyes up at him. Dripping and soaking wet, she suppressed the shiver that wanted to ripple up her spine, and glared daggers across the tub of water at Simmons.

"Do you want undignified?" she demanded, hissing through her teeth. "Then wait 'til you see what I do to you."

His eyes narrowed into slits, not amused at all. He cocked his head to the side and appraised her with a calculating look. Pursing his lips, he hummed slightly and inclined his head. "You know, you're just like your momma. Both playing in worlds where you don't belong."

Her blood boiled hot with righteous fury at the mention of her mother, gifting her renewed energy, and Beckett let out a scream and lunged forward, ignoring the fact her hands were bound behind her back. However, before she could advance much on Vulcan Simmons, Harden had stepped up behind her, fisting a handful of her hair and yanking back painfully. She let out a sharp cry and dropped back to her knees, groaning at the jolt of pain that shot up her legs from the heavy impact against the cement floor. Harden reached around and grabbed her left arm, preventing her from collapsing face down on the floor.

Flashing his teeth in a wicked smile, Simmons leaned forward. "Your momma paid for it with her life. So will you. But first…," Simmons flicked his eyes up to Harden and nodded.

Beckett let out a startled yelp, as Harden's hand dropped to the back of her neck. His grip tightened and within seconds he was shoving her forward. She barely had enough time to prepare before her face was once again plunged into the icy cold water. Heart pounding in her ears, Beckett struggled, fighting against the inevitable. Despite her best efforts, her mouth opened and she heaved in some water. Harden yanked her back and she coughed violently, chest shaking with each expulsion of water. Her insides were burning, her lungs felt on fire, an odd juxtaposition to the freezing water drenching her upper body and soaking through her shirt.

"Tell me what I want to know," Simmons demanded, deliberately punctuating each word, voice low and threatening.

She had no intention of telling him anything. Almost all of Agent McCord's intel had been false or misleading. So, even if she knew what he wanted to know, and was inclined to tell him, she couldn't.

Beckett had the wherewithal to gasp in a quick breath before Harden was shoving her head back into the water. Her hair floated around her face, obscuring her vision. She threw her shoulders back, but to no avail. Harden was stronger than her, and in her weakened state she was in no shape to fight back. The villain tugged her back from the brink, pulling her out of the water.

She sputtered and gasped. A violent shudder rippled through her body, causing every muscle to tense and spasm. Her vision was blurring, focus uneven. Harden gave her no time to prepare before pushing her down once more, submerging her in the icy water again and again at a punishing pace, up and down, up and down, tormenting her with the tease of air and then snatching it away before she had a chance to inhale.

This was worse than before. Pendergast had been cruel and vicious, but not this brutal and unrelenting. The mercenary had been using her as a lure to get Castle to talk. Here there was no one else. No one to distract Simmons, keep his attention divided. It was just her. It was all about her.

"Again!" Simmons roared.

Harden growled and shoved her head down hard. Her temple struck the edge of the tub and a sharp jolt of pain burst through her skull. Instinctually she moaned. The water flooded in the moment her lips parted. She thrashed and jerked, trying to use her entire body to push back against the pressure keeping her under, but Harden's grip held, strong and fast.

Her energy started to leak out of her. The beat of her heart pulsed in her ears. Her back bowed and strained against it, but there was nothing she could do. Slowly, the will within started to fade. Her energy levels dwelled. She couldn't resist. The sweet temptation of surrender called to her and it wasn't too long until she welcomed the cold embrace being offered. The intensity of her struggle dropped, and then ceased. She floated there, still and unresponsive, unable to stop the inevitability of it all.

And then she was being pulled out. Water streamed down her face, yet she didn't gasp for hair. Her body felt heavy and numb, useless. The world around her was fading. She was barely clinging to consciousness. Her head lulled sideways and she willed herself to expel the water from her lungs, but there was no energy left. She was running on empty.

It was Simmons holding her now, cradling her head in his large hand. "I know your lungs are burning. I can feel the panic in your soul." A quiet whimper escaped her lips. He smiled softly, as if he was a benevolent being come to save her. "All you want is for this to end." His voice was as smooth as silk, yet malevolent and twisted. "And I promise you, I will end it. Just tell me what I want to know."

Beckett tried. She really did. But she couldn't. Her mouth moved uselessly, but there was no biting retort. No rebuke to make. It was too much. Her body was shutting down. She barely had energy enough to breath, yet along talk. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she could feel the darkness tugged at her, pulling her under.

Displeased, Simmons released her, letting her fall violently to the floor. Her shoulder struck the ground hard, startling her back to consciousness, and she wheezed, her stomach muscles clenched painfully, and she doubled over, coughing so ferociously it made her entire body clench with agony.

Simmons stood above her, glancing down with disgust. He wiped his hands together and shook his head. "Scrub this place," he ordered to Mr. Jones. He then turned to Harden. "Find a patch of dirt to put her in, somewhere where she won't be found."

Harden pursed his lips and nodded, stepping towards her. Beckett struggled to stay afloat, keeping herself anchored to the present. Her heart throbbed in her chest, and she thought of Castle, of all the possibilities she'd wanted for herself, with him, for them. She wasn't ready to give up on those. She needed to live.

Beckett felt Harden's hands on her. She couldn't resist. Not yet. In a quick move, he forcibly yanked her off the floor, placing her on her unsteady legs. She wobbled there for a second, managing to loll her head to the side to glare one last time at Vulcan Simmons.

He snarled and waved a hand in dismissal. "Get her out of my sight."

Harden closed a fist around the back of her neck and shoved her towards the door, leading her to her doom.

XXX

Vikram Singh hoisted his satchel bag over his shoulder and hustled after him, a combination of worry and confusion wrinkling his youthful brow. Castle hadn't slept at all during the flight. He was running on desperation and fear. Kilmer's taunts echoed in his head, and he had little concern for what his superiors thought of him cutting out on his debriefing and absconding with the computer specialist. Kate Beckett was in trouble, and she didn't know it. His heart pounded so fiercely with worry that he wouldn't be surprised if it burst out of his chest.

As he worked his way through the late evening—or was it early morning? He had hadn't bothered to check the time—bustle in the international arrivals terminal of JFK International Airport, Castle whipped his flip phone out of his pocket and flicked it open, ignoring the strange looks he got from people at his use of what appeared to be an outdated form of communication. He checked for messages, gritting his teeth and suppressing a growl when he found none from Kate. Danberg had left several text messages, informing him that the imposter Colin Hunt had been taken into custody by the CIA and was currently being questioned by Susan Ortiz, one of the Agency's top profilers and interrogators, at the Federal Building.

The tight knot in his stomach lessened somewhat at the news. It was good news. That worry about Kilmer's inside man being close to Beckett, ready to do God's knows what, was gone. However, the twisted knots returned with vigor following the next series of messages from his friend.

According to Danberg, Kate's undercover assignment for the joint Justice Department-NYPD operation had gone sideways, and in a bad way. A very bad way. The woman she'd been masquerading as in order to infiltrate a meet-up with drug ring leadership hadn't been the simple courier they'd all believed her to be. Elena Markov was an assassin. Castle groaned inwardly. He thought her name had sounded familiar when Kate had told him about her unexpected new assignment during their brief phone call before she went under.

"Fuck," he hissed.

"What?" hooted Vikram, alarmed at his word usage, quickening his pace to keep up.

"It's all gone to shit," Castle answered under a growl. "Damn FBI didn't do their jobs properly. Nothing new there."

He had to work at suppressing the rage. Breathing through his nose, Castle tore through the crowds, surprised at the number of passengers in the international terminal so late or early in the morning, and nearly turned apoplectic when he saw the size of the queues to get through customs.

"Sir?" Vikram inquired.

The younger man's worried voice was enough to pull him from the brink.

"She's strong," he answered, more for himself than his confused companion. "She'll survive. She's survived worse."

Vikram nodded in agreement, though his furrowed brow made it clear he had no idea what he was agreeing to. Castle had to smile. The young man had been a pleasant surprise over the last few days. It was nice to be reminded that people like him still existed in this topsy-turvy world. He took a deep breath, utilizing all the training exercises from his days on the Farm to calm his center and find his balance. He clapped the computer specialist on the shoulder.

"You're a good man, Vikram."

"Um," Vikram blinked bewilderedly. "Thanks?"

Castle sighed and arched his neck to gaze back at the long queue. He couldn't risk making a scene or getting caught trying to sneak through customs, thus delaying him further. He would have to do things the old-fashioned way.

Closing his eyes, he heaved in a deep breath, and brought out his phone again, typing out a message to Danberg.

_In NY. Be at 12th ASAP._

He hesitated but a moment, and then pressed send.

Trust. Castle would have to trust others to have his girlfriend's back while he was absent and unable to help. He didn't know about Agent McCord and her FBI team. He couldn't trust them. They'd put Kate into this mess. Danberg, though. At least he could trust this friend. Failing that, he'd have to trust in her. And if there was one thing he'd learned over the course of the year in which he'd known and loved her, it was to trust Kate Beckett.

_Like you'd trusted her_? An insidiously guilty voice inside his head reminded him. Castle squashed down the tinge of guilt over his deal with Bracken, a deal he'd concealed from her… for her own good. To protect her. But all those were excuses. _Later_, he vowed as he moved up into a spot in the queue, Vikram right behind him. He would deal with that later.

XXX

She stumbled, her feet feeling heavy and clumsy.

Harden reached out from behind, grabbing her arm to steady her. Grunting, Beckett tried to throw him off, jerk away, but she was too weak. She felt drained of energy. Her lungs still ached from the demands put on them during the water torture. Twice now she'd been tortured with the threat of drowning. It was not pleasant at all. Her clothes were still thick with it, damp and heavy. She wheezed and fumbled forward, sluggish and cold. A chill rained down her spine, making her shudder. Harden remained behind her as he guided her through the uneven terrain. Bowing her head forward, she gritted her teeth and willed herself not to surrender to the pull of unconsciousness.

If this were to be her end, she'd meet it with some dignity.

"I love the woods," Harden said, speaking in a casual manner as if they were good friends.

Mouth gagged, she breathed through her nostrils and trudged along, staring down as the mist slowly started to creep in along the twisted knots and roots on the ground.

"My old man used to take me hunting up here when I was a kid," Harden continued, gripping her shoulder tightly and turning her around one gnarled looking tree with two round knobs sticking out where branches used to extend, guiding her deeper into the ever-thickening woods. "I spent days learning every rock, every tree. All the secret places to hide. Over the years, it's come in handy."

Beckett heard the smirk in that last statement. She let out a shuddering breath through the cloth gag and continued forward, but then her foot got caught on something. It took her but a moment to realize it was Harden, grinning at her as he stuck his foot between hers, causing her to fumble and trip, losing her footing. A muffled yelp escaped through the gag as her shoulder collided with the hard, cold ground as she collapsed won the embankment, tumbling down the slope.

With her hands still bound behind her back, she couldn't do anything to prevent her fall. Dust and dry leaves puffed up around her as she rolled disjointedly down into a small indented hollow in the middle of the dark and misty woods, ending with an unceremoniously sliding stop in a boxy patch of thickets and dead brush.

Harden followed her down the slope, sliding on loose bits of scree as he made his way into the cramped clearing. He held his gun up in the ready, as if she even had the strength to fight back.

She merely laid there on the rough ground, sputtering and coughing through the tight gag around her mouth, even now still expelling some lingering amounts of water from her aching lungs. Her back bowed as she fought against the muscle cramps caused by the spasms. Eyes clenched tightly, she felt a series of unwelcomed tears—tears of hopeless defeat—leak down her cheeks.

_No_.

Beckett stubbornly willed them away as Harden bent over her and wrenched her back up to her knees, figuring she wouldn't do so on her own. He was right. She wasn't going to help him. Blinking her eyes, she summoned whatever strength she had left and forced her back straight and craned her neck up to glare defiantly back at him.

Harden cocked his head and smirked, gun held casually in both his hands as he appraised her. "You know, I had you made from the moment you walked through the door," he gloated. "I thought, no way is this woman a killer." He crouched down, unencumbering one hand to tug the gag around her mouth free, all the while keeping the barrel of the gun shoved in her face.

"No."

Beckett let out a pathetic whimper, feeling her ashamed of her display of weakness as she hacked and wheezed. Her chest ached and her heart pulsed wildly beneath her breast. The damp shirt clung to her chest, feeling restrictive. She battled against the tumult of emotions swirling up inside her, but despite her best efforts, a few more tears managed to leak out.

She shook her head as she stared up at her killer with watery eyes. "You don't want to kill me, Harden," Beckett found herself pleading. She hated to beg, but unlike any other time in her life, she had more to live for. When she'd been shot in the chest, Beckett had barely had the will to live. It had been a constant struggle to survive, to find that determination to get up and take the next step, yet somehow she'd found it. Now, however, that will—that need, desire—to live was stronger. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end. "You know I'm a cop," she added, hoping the possible repercussion of being a cop killer would cause him to second guess following Vulcan Simmons's orders.

Harden merely smirked, his eyes twinkling in the soft moonlight. "I've killed cops before," he asserted, smug and arrogant, with a touch of amusement. "In fact, a few of them are your new neighbors."

Beckett swallowed, and inhaled a sharp breath before continuing. "You don't understand," she persisted, thinking of Castle, of the pain and anguish he would feel at her death, the all-consuming rage that would build within. It would be the same for her, if something ever happened to him. "I have people who care for me, one in particular. He loves me. He will hunt you down. He will kill you."

Harden pursed and licked his lips uneasily, even with his determination to see his orders fulfilled, Beckett was able to detect the slight hesitation. He knew she wasn't bluffing now, that what she said was true.

"It doesn't matter," he dismissed it.

"We can make a deal," Beckett went on, desperate, ashamed it leaked through in her voice. "You help me take down Lazarus, you can set any deal you want."

Harden pretended to think about it, before shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good with the deal I've got, thank you."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and her eyes drifted down. She had nothing left. She was completely spent. This was it. She had failed. Her chin started to tremble as the reality of it came crashing down on her. Biting her lower lip, she closed her eyes against the harsh truth of it, pulling up a mental image of Richard Castle's handsome face, smiling at her, nothing but love and admiration shining out from his gaze. Yes. She wanted the thought of him to be the last thing in her mind when it all ended.

Harden flexed his fingers around the handle of his weapon, and squared up his shoulders. A twig snapped and Beckett's eyes bolted open. She watched, transfixed, as Harden spun around in place and was met by a woman, clad in all black. She grabbed the back of his head and before either he or Beckett realized it, his throat was sliced and his gun was knocked from his grip. He stood there for a moment, swaying in the gentle breeze, frozen in time until reality kicked in and he simply tipped to one side and collapsed into a heap on the cold, hard ground. Dead.

Beckett gasped sharply and jerked her gaze up, catching the sinister flash of a blade in the moonlight. Her eyes continued up until she saw the cold eyes of a woman she recognized. She'd seen that face before. Yes. It had been displayed on a whiteboard and on a television screen back at the precinct. Elena Markov.

The woman in black stepped forward, brandishing the knife, the blade still drenched in Harden's blood. Beckett jerked her head up, heart pounding fiercely inside her chest.

"Elena," she hiccupped, too dumbfounded to say anything else.

Elena Markov stalked closer, tilting her head down in an oddly detached way as she stared at Beckett, scrutinizing her with an assessing gaze.

"You've got balls, I'll give you that," the woman declared with a nod of admiration. Elena met her eyes and nodded, and then turned in a graceful pirouette like that of a prima ballerina on stage delivering the performance of a lifetime.

Her throat tightened around the words, but she managed to force them out. "You're not going to kill me?" Beckett asked, not sure why she was even questioning it.

Elena stopped, spun back around, still graceful and elegant, like a world class dancer. She cocked her head as she stared back down at Beckett, looming over her like some avenging angel in the night.

"He sent me because he owed you," she answered enigmatically. "He said he wanted you to live."

Beckett glanced away, brow wrinkling. "Who sent you?" she queried, the investigator in her always on, utterly mystified. "Who wanted me to live?"

Elena squinted her eyes, considering. "Lazarus," she announced. "He says to tell your boyfriend that he knew he was bluffing. And that since he spared your life, the deal is now null and void."

"What?" Beckett gasped, stunned, completely at a loss as to what that even meant. If Vulcan Simmons wasn't Lazarus, then who was? And what deal had he made with Castle? It made no sense.

But Elena didn't answer. The woman said nothing more. Without even a backwards glance, Elena Markov strolled off into the night and disappeared. Alone, Beckett slumped down, breathing heavily as all the tension and adrenalin drained away, left with more questions than answers. But at least she was alive. Battered and bruised, bound and on her knees, but still alive.


	19. Chapter 18

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 18**_

* * *

They found her in the early morning, slumped against a tree trunk for support. The sun hadn't yet risen. The sky was still dark and foreboding. She had tried freeing herself from her bonds, but not long after Elena Markov had left her there in the clearing, the fatigue from the long day had finally sunk in, and she had been too exhausted to do anything else. She'd barely had enough energy to drag and push her way over to the tree, squirming along like an insect, straining her legs as she kicked them against the hard ground to propel her forward. It had taken all her remaining strength to reach the cover of the trees. A wave of drowsiness consumed her then.

Beckett blinked back into consciousness from a flash of light… no, lights! Squinting into the pre-dawn glow, she recognized the barks of search dogs announcing the presence of her rescuers. Not long after, she spotted the bobbing beams of flashlights as they swept the woods. Soon, uniformed NYPD officers, along with agents in FBI windbreakers, stumbled upon her in the hollow on the other side of the gentle cresting slope, surrounded by a circle of trees and brush.

It was Agent Martin Danberg who reached her first, dropping down to his knees to check her for a pulse, despite her languidly blinking eyes. Satisfied she was alive, he respectfully padded his hands over her lithe frame, looking for any other injuries besides those that could be seen with the naked eye.

"Medic!" he cried out, snapping his fingers and arching his torso to twist back around to wave at the other searchers on the far side of the clearing, lingering around Harden's body. "We need a medic!"

She nearly jerked back in alarm when he whipped out a knife and she caught the flash of the blade. Danberg held up a hand to steady her, and then quickly moved around her, efficiently cutting her bonds. Relaxing her shoulders, Beckett let out a sigh, shifting to bring her hands back around to grasp Danberg's shoulders.

"Mansion," she wheezed out as she rubbed her raw wrists. "Not far."

Danberg nodded. "We're on it. Don't worry."

She closed her eyes and nodded, breathing through her mouth.

"Water?" he questioned, holding up a bottled water.

Beckett almost laughed. It still must have shown on her face, because the CIA officer gave her a puzzled look, cocking his head to the side and knitting his eyebrows together.

"Beckett? Are you all right?" he asked.

She worked at swallowing, yet bobbed her head. "I'm fine," she assured, pausing to cough. "Just got a bit banged up. Nothing that hasn't happened before."

Danberg grimaced, then his features dropped into a mask of contrition. "I shouldn't have left with Hunt," he asserted, sounding angry at himself. "I should have stayed. Maybe if I hadn't been so focus on—"

She cut him off with a grunt. "Not your fault," she managed to push out. She lolled her head back against the rough bark of the tree trunk. "I agreed to it. It was my decision."

"Still, you weren't properly informed," he insisted, shaking his head.

She offered him a weak smile. He was a good friend. She could see why Castle trusted him. "Comes with the territory, doesn't it?" she asked. It was a rhetorical question. She didn't expect a response, and he didn't offer one.

The medics finally arrived, and Danberg stepped aside to allow them access to her. She grunted and huffed, protesting their treatments, refusing the stretcher when it arrived. With Danberg's help, she got herself back up to her feet. Leaning on him for support, Beckett let out a long breath.

"Castle?" she asked as they made their way out of the clearing, following a path of lighted stanchions that created a path through the dark woods.

"Last I heard, his plane arrived at JFK," Danberg said. "He should be at the precinct by the time we get back."

She felt her eyes grow heavy. "Good," was all she managed.

"We've got a bus waiting to take you—"

"I'm not riding in an ambulance," she insisted, some of her fiery stubbornness still lurking beneath the surface despite the fatigue racking her body.

However, by the time they made it to the road and the awaiting ambulance, Beckett didn't argue when the EMTs helped her up into the back and down onto the cot there. They hooked her up with some IVs, pumping antibodies and fluids into her, and she reclined her head into the scratchy pillow, answering questions that were put to her by the attending medic. She did, however, refuse to be taken to a hospital. Straight to the Twelfth Precinct, that was her request. And Danberg ensured her wishes were granted.

Thankfully most of her physically injuries were superficial. They stitched up the cut on her forehead and bandaged her bruises, but other than that, she was okay. Beckett just needed to get warm, hydrate, and get some rest. The EMT sitting in the back with her stressed the importance of rest the most. She flashed him a mild glare when he offered an Advil, but she took it, swallowing the capsule without swigging down the proffered water.

Beckett lost track of time after that, but when they arrived at the precinct, the sun was up, and a new day had dawned. She blinked in the early light, accepting Danberg's hand as she stepped down out of the ambulance, the EMT frowning behind her in disapproval. With a scratchy blanket wrapped around her hunched shoulders, Beckett stepped into the lobby of the Twelfth Precinct, nodding to the desk sergeant as if nothing had happened. Danberg punched the call button for the elevator, and stepped back, clasping his hands in front of him as they waited for it to arrive.

"Thank you," she forced herself to say, pursing her lips on a weak smile.

"What for?" he asked, glancing at her with a puzzled expression.

"Just… thank you," she repeated.

Beckett didn't know how exactly to put it into words, but the fact that it was him, an acquaintance through Castle, still someone with whom she could trust but wasn't close with, not someone she knew—like Ryan or Esposito—who found her in that weakened state and helped her through it, leaving that place and returning to her home away from home, had made the entire experience much more bearable. Danberg stared at her for a long beat, and then simply inclined his head in acknowledgment. Nothing more was needed to be said.

The elevator doors rattled open, and they stepped into the small compartment, riding the lift up in comfortable companionship. Beckett shifted on her feet, tugging the scratchy blanket tighter around her frame. She was hoping there wasn't any fanfare when they stepped out on the fourth floor and into the homicide bullpen. All she wanted was to check in with her captain, and then head for the showers, warm up and change. McCord and Captain Fowler would want to debrief her as soon as possible, but she figured they could wait, especially considering how they'd sent her undercover without all the information.

The elevator chime dinged and she nearly flinched, so lost in her own thoughts was she. The doors opened and Beckett stepped out onto the fourth floor of the Twelfth Precinct, which housed the homicide bullpen. As she'd hoped, there was no fanfare for her return, though there was a minuscule part of her that was disappointed, if even just a bit that no one was there waiting to welcome her back after her dangerous sojourn into the belly of the beast. Everyone was just going about their business, as if nothing had happened. It was early morning, not as early as she had believed, time must have flown by her when the EMTs had pumped drugs into her on the ride back into the city.

Blinking, Beckett slowly walked around the latticed barrier separating the elevator from the bullpen proper. Narrowing her eyes, she glimpsed a familiar form through the gaps in the latticework. Her heart nearly skipped a beat at the sight. Two months. It had only been two months since she'd last seen him in the flesh, person to person. Yet, especially after the last couple of days, it had felt like a lifetime. Oh, how she'd missed him. All of him. Even the parts that drove her completely insane. But he was hers. All hers.

He was sitting at her desk, in her chair, going through her things. He opened a drawer, dug around inside it, before slamming it shut. Then bending down, he tugged another, this one further down, open and examined the interior. Shaking his head, he closed it and sat back up, straightening his back and squaring his broad shoulders as he skimmed his hands over the surface of the desktop, tracing the edges of the ceramic parade of elephants she kept displayed there.

Fighting the delighted grin that wanted to take over her face, Beckett found her inner reserves and strolled into the bullpen, removing the scratchy blanket from around her shoulders, and tossing it aside on a pair of visitor seats. Elena Markov's words briefly flashed back into her mind, but she shrugged them off, burying them down, not wanting anything to mar the long awaited reunion with her boyfriend.

She stalked up to the desk snooper, leaned down and placed a hand on his shoulder, forcibly turning him to face her. For a half second, she was stunned at the handsome visage that met her. Too long she'd had to content herself with photos, selfies sent over the phone, or her own imagination. It was a bit of a shock to once again finally see his sharp, intelligent blue eyes, strong jaw, and waggling eyebrows staring right back at her.

"Castle," she breathed out, the hints of a smile on her voice and lips. She raised an eyebrow as she glanced over at her desk, noticing that one drawer was still slightly ajar. "Stop going through my stuff."

He pursed his lips and hummed, cocking his head to the side as his eyes slowly roamed up and down her slim figure, lingering on the good bits, before returning her challenging gaze.

"Need I remind you, I've already seen all your_ stuff_," he replied with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, innuendo dripping from his lips. "And it's some nice _stuff_," he hummed approvingly, eyes dropping to appraise her slim figure once more, "some very nice _stuff_."

"Well, if you wanna see _my_ _stuff_ again, you better shut up and kiss me," she retorted with a saucy little smirk.

Rick Castle bounded out of her desk chair, his hands immediately going to her hips, but then he hesitated, glancing around the bullpen at the small group of detectives and uniformed officers going about their business, all doing a poor job of pretending that they weren't watching their reunion with keen eyes, eager for the gossip on the high-ranking detective squad leader and her mysterious boyfriend.

"Here, you're sure?" he asked in a hushed voice, reminding her of her strict 'No PDA in the workplace' rule.

Beckett shrugged her shoulders and looped her arms around his neck in a casual and intimate manner that spoke volumes of how comfortable the two of them were together. She slanted slightly to the side, pursing her lips as she feigned mulling it over. She let him linger for just a moment, before offering up an answer. "I don't care about that anymore," she declared. All her worry about how her work colleagues would look at her seemed irrelevant now. "Just kiss me, Castle."

Not having to be told twice, Castle gripped her hips tighter and tugged her close. A puff of his warm breath caressed her face as he dipped his head down. Her heartbeat quickened, and she pushed up to meet him halfway. He slanted his lips over hers, claiming her with his passion and want all rolled up into a single toe-curling embrace. There was a bit of desperation and longing mixed in, along with relief and gratitude. And love. Always love. It blew her away, just how much this man loved her, and how much she loved him. Honestly, sometimes it still felt like a dream.

Pulling back, Beckett beamed happily up at him, soaking in the mutual admiration and desire that burned between them. She reached up and caressed the side of his ruggedly handsome face, so very pleased that she could once again touch him. It was amazing how something so simple held so much meaning.

"Welcome back," she said.

He chuckled. "I feel as if I should be saying that to you," he asserted. His jovial features shifted drastically into serious concern. "How are you? Really?"

She rolled her shoulders. "A little banged up, but okay," Beckett relented, canting into him, drawing strength from his close proximity. "EMTs gave me some stuff in the ambulance. I should be fine. Nothing a little R & R won't fix."

He lifted an eyebrow at that statement. "Since when does Detective Beckett take R & R?" he questioned.

Oh, he knew her so well. She suppressed a grin, and ducked her head down, temporarily averting her eyes. "It's good to have you back, Castle," she admitted in a soft voice, working at stopping it before it caught on her rising emotions. Her eyes betrayed her, watering slightly with pent up tears. "I really needed you."

Castle let out a soothing sound and brought her in, cradling her in his strong arms, rocking her gently back and forth as she buried her head in the crook of his neck. He knew how difficult it was for her to admit that out loud, so it was comforting when he didn't do his normal jesting or teasing, but simply held her. That was all she needed at that moment. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the scent of him, sandalwood, masculine, and something that was uniquely Rick Castle.

A smile crept along her face.

Home. She thought. This was home.

XXX

After the Scarsdale mission, they drove back to the city and dropped the Swan off at a prearranged location, where she'd eventually acquire her own means of transportation to take her wherever it was she needed to go next. He sat in the back of the SUV and watched her go, eyebrows knitted together in thought. The Swan had saved the bitch cop from certain death, and the act puzzled him. Supposedly it had been part of Lazarus's grand plan, the product of which was to sow distrust and suspicion between the two lovers, destabilizing and fracturing their union, preventing them forming a united front. He didn't think it would work. Lazarus underestimated what fools love could make of people. He saw it on those two: Agent Rick Castle and his lady detective had it bad.

It disgusted him.

It could still work, though. He didn't really understand the power of love. Never would. But that didn't bother him. Love only made people vulnerable, susceptible to mistakes. He would never allow that to happen to him.

He had received a call from Lazarus while the Swan was fulfilling her role. The next stage in this scheme would commence shortly, and Kilmer would be the one to ensure it took place, for a considerable fee, of course. Money. It always came back to money. Still, this new assignment also managed to accomplish one of his own desires, hopefully leading to the downfall of the bitch cop: Detective Kate Beckett.

So, Kilmer was more than happy to adjust his plans and schedule to accommodate this new request. But first there was some unfinished business he needed to wrap up for his backers within the Consortium.

"Where to, sir?" Rajko inquired from the front seat. He too was watching the departing Elena Markov, specifically her delectable swaying backside.

Kilmer smirked. He also appreciated the woman's attractiveness. However, there were larger things at play that needed his attention. Despite the allure that a tussle with a gorgeous woman like Elena Markov might provide, Kilmer found his focus locked on the goal. Shifting in his seat, he pulled out his phone and checked the text message sent to him from his contact on the Board.

"We need to make a stop at the British Consulate," he announced. "There's a loose end there that needs dealing with."

"Sir," Rajko nodded, and then signaled to Piotr, who immediately turned on the ignition and pulled away from the curb. "So, even after they had that nosy model killed for him, Nigel Wyndham was still unwilling to give a cut of his profits to the Consortium?"

"You could say that, yes," he deigned to answer. Truthfully, he never liked divulging details to subordinates, but he made an exception with Rajko Kápa.

Kilmer liked the power and authority he gained from assuming control of Johann Kriedt's organization, but he really wasn't built for running such a thing. He needed someone who understood all the minute details and structural interchanges to handle that side of the business. That's where a man like Rajko Kápa came in handy. And the man had proven loyal. Still, it was hard for him to trust people.

Kilmer attributed his long survival to his constant distrust and ever-present paranoia. It was what had made him such a good covert operative for the CIA. But they never appreciated his unique talents and skills. They undervalued his abilities, so he struck out on his own, and made a name for himself as 'The Knave'. He worked best alone. But, when necessary, he was able to adapt. Those that refused to evolve died. It was a fact of life.

And Raymond Kilmer refused to die.

Since he was feeling generous, Kilmer decided to delegate some of the work. There was more of it at present. He was only one man; he couldn't do everything. "While I'm dealing with Wyndham, I want you to take Piotr here and locate a music producer that goes by the name Biggie Slim. Another loose end from our friend Colin Hunt's assignment. It shouldn't be that hard to find him. I hear he travels with a sizable entourage."

"Yes, sir, will do," Rajko nodded, obedient. "And what shall we do with him once we find him?"

"Terminate him," Kilmer bared his teeth, grinned wickedly. "And make it look like an accident."

XXX

"Tactical teams raided the compound at 0600 this morning, shortly after your call," Agent McCord stood, arms crossed, in front of the whiteboard, which had been moved back into the conference room. "The place was empty. Everything's gone."

"The mansion itself," Hendricks picked up the briefing, "is held in trust by an offshore corporation. It'll be months before we find out who the real owners are."

"If ever," Captain Fowler added from the other side of the conference room, looking glum and dejected for what was considered a failed operation.

Beckett pursed her lips, mulling over their comments. She sensed his presence even before the cup of coffee manifested in front of her. She accepted it with a grateful smile. Castle smiled back and reclaimed the spot at the table he'd been sitting earlier.

Agent McCord had tried to bar him from the debriefing, citing that he hadn't been part of the operation from the start, and his personal connection to Beckett, which McCord felt would make him bias. Beckett had objected, insisting he accompany her. She was surprised when Captain Gates backed her. After the initial debrief, Castle had excused himself, returning with two full trays from the coffee shop down the street. The rich brew was far superior from that in their break room, but that wasn't too hard to achieve.

She closed her eyes and savored the flavor of the two pumps of sugar-free vanilla that had been added to her latte. Trust Castle to always provided with her favorite coffee order. When they first met, he took his black. But over their time together, he'd changed his order to a cappuccino.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Castle said in answer Captain Fowler's comment with his usual exuberance and overconfidence. He flicked a glance over to Agent Danberg, who furrowed his brow, before swinging back to meet McCord's narrowed stare.

Placing her hands on her hips, McCord pursed her lips. "I doubt your Agency would allow use of its resources for such—"

"They won't mind," Castle interrupted with a wave of his hand. He gestured down the table, when Danberg seemed to shrink down a bit in his seat. "My friend over there already—Oof!"

Beckett kicked his shin to shut him up. He blinked and glanced at her with a confused expression. She met his questioning eyes and shook her head. Now wasn't the time for him to reveal his true profession, not with Captain Gates and Captain Fowler in the room. Though, Beckett reckoned Agent McCord had a notion.

"What about Vulcan Simmons?" she asked, redirecting the debriefing back on course.

McCord scrunched up her face, appearing reluctant to answer, but she still did. "My team picked him up this morning in Washington Heights. Nowhere near the compound."

Captain Fowler stepped over, looking grave, and apologetic. "They've been questioning him all morning, but—"

"He had an alibi for last night," Beckett surmised on a disappointed sigh. It wasn't difficult to see how it was all playing out. She knitted her eyebrows together in a scowl and clenched her jaw. Castle sensed the growing tension in her shoulders and dropped a reassuring hand on her knee beneath the table, out of sight of the others in the room, only detectable by her.

"Look," McCord said, placing her hands on the surface of the conference table as she leaned forward, trying to project confidence. "We'll go after him, but without evidence it'll be difficult to make any of your allegations stick."

"Allegations!?" Castle scoffed, full of indignation, glaring daggers across the table. He stood up and jabbed an accusatory finger at her. "How dare you! You have no right. It's your fault she went under without all the relevant information. If you'd been doing your jobs—"

"Castle, it's okay," Beckett said, tugging at his arm.

"No, it's not," he answered shaking his head, and glaring at McCord. "An undercover operation like this shouldn't have even happened, not without proper prep time, which you were denied because of the short notice and—"

"Castle," it was Danberg speaking now. "It's done. It's over. We can't change it. And other things distracted us," he added with some remorse. "But she's here now, safe and sound. Be grateful for that."

"Agent Danberg is right, Mr. Castle," Gates jumped in, staring at him with a displeased expression, no doubt finding his outburst wholly unprofessional. "Rest assured, I'll be filing a formal complaint with her superiors, but for now, please sit down."

Beckett gritted her teeth and tugged on his arm, more sharply than she had intended. "Castle," she hissed. "Sit."

And he did, albeit reluctantly, glancing over at her like a scolded puppy. She pursed his lips and forcibly ignored him, though it was difficult. His puppy dog look was very effective. But, his ire at Agent McCord outweighed his playfulness, which she knew was part of his coping mechanisms to deal with stress, and he shifted to glare back at the FBI agent.

McCord met his gaze head on. "I'm not questioning Detective Beckett's statement, Agent Castle," she said. "I'm merely stating facts. And the fact is we have no evidence. Nothing."

"No," Beckett blurted out, startling everyone, including Castle.

"Kate?" he asked, jerking his head toward her.

"No," she repeated, softer this time, glancing around the conference room at all the expectant faces. "Not nothing."

Putting her coffee aside, Beckett stretched out across the table and pulled a yellow lined notepad over. She accepted a pen from Castle, always prepared. Squinting her eyes, she flicked her wrist and wrote out in her crisp and neat handwriting: FUTURE FORWARD.

McCord craned her neck and tilted her head to glance down at what Beckett had written.

"Future Forward?"

"Yeah," Beckett nodded. "Part of the money laundering operation—whatever it was. They are funneling a lot of cash into that account."

McCord thought it over and then nodded. "We'll look into it." She jerked her head toward Hendricks. "Just give us a minute."

Beckett leaned back in the chair and watched McCord and her partner stalk over to the Justice Department's mobile command center: A fancy cart with a bunch of electronic toys on it. Fowler glanced around the table, and moved to join them.

Gates let out a sigh and turned to look at Beckett with an concern expression. It was a little startling, seeing so much empathy from her usually stern and indominable captain. "Are you all right, Detective?"

"I'm fine, sir," Beckett answered with a reassuring nod. "Nothing I haven't gone through before."

Gates gave her a quizzical expression, unaware the detective was referencing some of her experiences with Castle last year when they'd been abducted by Clyde Pendergast and his mercenaries. Shaking her head, Gates moved over to confer with Agent Danberg, who looked relieved to have someone to talk with. He flashed an aggrieved look in Castle's direction, before focusing on her commanding officer.

Left alone with Castle, as much as one could be in the relatively small conference room, Beckett turned to him and offered a mild shrug. He got it. The look in his blue eyes told her he did.

"See what happens when I leave you alone?" he attempted to joke, but the mirth didn't reach his eyes. She hated the look of self-reproach on his face, as if he was at fault for what occurred during her undercover assignment.

Beckett sighed, and shook her head, reaching over to place a hand atop his on the table. He dropped his eyes and stared down at their hands, flipping his palm up so they could interlace their fingers. His grip was tight. Desperate.

"Babe," she spoke softly, needing to reassure him. "I wasn't alone. When they were interrogating me, the only thing that kept me going was thinking about you. About our future. You were with me the whole time."

She glanced down at their linked hands and squeezed her fingers in reassurance, flirting her eyes back up to meet his to make promises without words. He stared back at her, and for a moment, Beckett caught the glimpse of something resembling guilt or shame flash across his eyes, but then it was gone, covered over. Because of what Elena had told her, Beckett had an inkling what might be going through his mind, but she remained silent. Now wasn't the time or place for that discussion. Later.

Castle gave her a relaxed grin, and nodded. "Well, at least it's not a total loss," he said, speaking of the case once more. "Now that we know Vulcan Simmons is Lazarus, we can keep an eye on him. He will not be able to rebuild his operation. I promise you that."

Beckett startled at his words, but covered it well. He thought Vulcan Simmons was Lazarus? His statement didn't make sense with what Elena Markov had said. The woman's words floated back to the surface of her mind: _He says to tell your boyfriend that he knew he was bluffing. And that since he spared your life, the deal is now null and void_. That didn't make sense. Simmons had wanted her dead. Lazarus had wanted her alive, having scent Elena specifically to save her. They weren't the same person. Castle should know that if he had made a deal with Lazarus. He was a spook, she reminded herself, but she sensed no deception from him.

But, she could always be wrong.

Yet that too didn't make sense. Castle was always more than free with sharing sensitive information with her, so much so that she knew from conversations with Agent Danberg that he was facing disciplinary inquiries back at Langley because of that. Perhaps there was more going on that she'd initially thought.

Shaking her head, she met his eyes. "He's not Lazarus, Castle. You missed that part." And he had. He'd left the room during that part of her debriefing, having gone out to procure her a proper cup of coffee. Beckett had included most of what Elena had said in her official report, but had omitted what the woman had said in regards to Castle and his supposed deal with Lazarus.

"Huh?"

"I'd be dead if he was Lazarus," she told him. "Vulcan Simmons is just a figurehead, a middleman. Someone else is behind this. Someone higher up. Someone who wanted me alive."

"Who?"

"Someone bigger."

Castle's eyebrows jerked up in alarm, he shifted awkwardly, as if he were ready to rabbit. He pulled his hand back from her grasp and licked his lips, brushing back some hair that had flopped down over his forehead. It was almost like he was anxious. That fleeting look of guilt flashed in his eyes once more. "What… what exactly are you implying?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, growing concerned with his shifty behavior. Elena's words hadn't made any sense at the time, but now, in conjunction with Castle's odd behavior, some of the pieces were starting to come together. The blank spaces started to fill in the more she thought. And then it struck. Her eyes widened in shock. Bracken. It was the only answer. The only thing that could explain the correlation she was making between what Elena Markov had told her and Castle's sudden evasive, anxious manner when she posited that Vulcan Simmons wasn't Lazarus. He already knew or suspected it. Either way, he'd remained silent. The revelation was like a sucker punch to the gut. A heavy sense of betrayal slashed through her chest as she glanced up at Castle with almost pleading eyes, wanting to be wrong. Not him. Not Castle. He couldn't be involved.

"You tell me," she all but snapped back, discovering it difficult to repress the tumult of emotions raging inside her like a wild hurricane.

He was already shaking his head, preemptively, but before he could speak, a commotion from the other side of the conference room caught their attention, breaking the spell between them.

Beckett jerked back her chair and stood, immediately heading over to where the others stood, clustered around the computer terminal. Castle trailed behind her, looking like a man who'd just had his execution postponed. She ignored that for the moment, deciding to focus on what the Justice Department agents had uncovered.

"This can't be right," McCord was proclaiming, a perplexed and disbelieving expression on her face.

Her partner, Hendricks, rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced back down at the screen. "I'm afraid it is."

Beckett flicked her gaze between them, before settling on McCord, who shot a quick look at Captain Fowler. The head of the NYPD Narcotic division appeared to be out of his element.

"What is it?" Beckett asked.

McCord frowned, ignoring her question as she prodded Hendricks with her own. "You're saying that's what Future Forward is? A political Super PAC? That's where the money was going?"

Hendricks bobbed his head. "That's what the data says," he gestured to the screen.

"Yo."

All their heads turned when Esposito entered the room. He inclined his head towards Beckett, and she returned the acknowledgement. Ryan was behind him, holding a file. Gates and Danberg made their way over from the other side of the room to join the growing group standing in front of the white board and electronics cart.

Castle stepped closer to Beckett, the solid frame of him crowding her from behind. His warm breath tickled the back of her neck, making her shiver with an unexpected tinge of arousal, which should not have surprised her, especially when factoring in their long separation. She'd missed him dearly. However, her head wasn't in the right place for that sort of thing. At least, not now. She was still adjusting to her revelation about Lazarus and whatever part Castle played in it. Yet, despite her growing unease and hurt with all that, his close proximity, along with her body's reaction, still managed to coax a small smile onto her lips, which gave her hope that this nagging issue between them, in the end, could be remedied.

"Detective?" Gates inquired with a raised eyebrow as she stared down Esposito. The Twelfth Precinct's captain was growing impatient and aggravated. Beckett didn't blame her. With everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours, Beckett thought it a reasonable reaction.

Esposito gestured towards the laptop that currently displayed the information on Future Forward. "That's the connection to Evan Potter," he explained, and then added, with a pointed look in Beckett's direction, "our would-be victim."

She pursed her lips on a tight smirk, her eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. "I did what I needed to do, Espo."

"Hey, no judgement from me, chica," he declared with a returning grin and wink.

Ryan cleared his throat, and his two colleagues glanced at him with raised eyebrows. He deflated a bit under their scrutiny, but picked up where Esposito had left off. "Potter did all the legal work to establish the Super Pac for a client of his, a wealthy hedge fund manager with significant political connections."  
"Name?" McCord demanded, cutting of Captain Gates before she could ask the same question.

"Jason Kochler," Ryan answered after consulting his notes.

McCord glanced at Hendricks.

"Already on it," her partner declared as he set to work at the mobile computer station.

Taking advantage of the lull, Beckett took the opportunity to assert her own thoughts into the conversation. "From what I saw, it would appear as if the drug money is being funneled into Future Forward's accounts," she surmised.

Agent McCord crossed her arms and rubbed her chin. She stared back at Beckett with narrowed eyes. "That would be my assessment as well, Detective," she concurred.

"Nearly $160 million in the last several months," Hendricks pipped up, head still bowed as he worked on the laptop.

Grunting, Esposito exchanged a look with Ryan. The two had been interviewing Mr. Evan Potter while they had been in the conference room going over Beckett's debriefing. She was keen to hear what her friends and partners had learned from Potter.

"Espo?"

He sighed. "We did some digging after finishing our talk with Mr. Potter," he said. "All that money was then legally laundered, passing through an anonymous shell company and a second secret Super PAC."  
Gates let out a startled noise that stunned Beckett enough to have her turning her eyes towards her captain. Gates blinked her eyes, and gaped, appearing utterly bewildered.

"What do you mean, 'legally laundered'?" the captain demanded. "Where's that money now?"

Standing across from her, McCord squinted as she shifted her attention to Esposito, apparently as eager for an answer as Beckett was herself. She prompted him with a soft inclined of her head, familiar with the interplay between their team enough to know that her two colleagues always looked to her for their lead.

"It's gone," Esposito admitted, furrowing his brow.

McCord was the only one that seemed to understand. She nodded, and explained. "Federal tax and banking laws regulate these kind of Super PACs," she elaborated. "Unfortunately, it makes it nearly impossible for us to find out where that money actually came from or went."

"We might be able to check on that," Danberg offered, finally joining the conversation. "I'll be taking Mr. Singh off your hands, Rick. Get him to work on that." He exchanged a quick silent conversation with Castle, before nodding. Beckett raised her eyebrows. Apparently, Agent Danberg was of the same mind as Castle, willing to use Agency resources on this case.

Beckett also knew from previous conversations with Danberg that the CIA was interested in Lazarus and uncovering his identity. She had a feeling it had to do with that organization Colin Hunt had mentioned during interrogation.

What had he called it?

The Consortium?

"Well, someone must be able to tell us," Gates asserted, pulling Beckett back to the present. "Evan Potter?"

Ryan shook his head, and offered an apologetic look to his commanding officer. "Sorry, sir, but no. He just set up the PAC for Kochler. He didn't run it."

"Then I think we need to speak with this Jason Kochler as soon as possible," McCord announced, getting a nod of agreement from Captain Gates.

"We can't," Hendricks interjected as he stepped back from the mobile computer cart to rejoin them. McCord gave him a quizzical expression. "Jason Kochler is dead," he announced. "He died of a heart attack this morning."

Beckett almost rolled her eyes at the coincidence. The first thing she'd learned in a murder investigation was that there was no such thing as a coincidence. "That's why we can't find the money," she insisted. "Someone's been using it to build a massive political war chest."

"But who?" it was Captain Fowler asking the question, still looking very much out of his element.

Esposito answered for them, shrugging his shoulders. "It's impossible to know."

Beckett exchanged a look with McCord, sensing the Justice Department agent might know more than she was admitting, before arching her neck to glance at Castle. His face was a mask, unreadable. His lips were flat and his expression blank. Yet when their eyes met, she knew he was thinking the same thing—or he'd known all along—that the answer to both questions—Who the political war chest was for? And who was Lazarus?—was Senator William Bracken.

Oh, yes, she thought, pondering Elena's words once again, Castle had some explaining to do.


	20. Chapter 19

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 19**_

* * *

He shuffled in behind her, entering their apartment in the early afternoon. They'd spent woefully little time together there since leasing the place. Having a home, someplace to come back to after a mission, was also something completely new to Castle. The concept was foreign to him. He was still getting used to it. He hadn't had a genuine home in a long, long time. This small apartment in Gramercy Park that he shared with Kate Beckett was the first ever in his entire adult life that he could truly call his home. Yet, for all that, he hadn't really spent that much time there. Right now, it looked more Beckett's than his, than theirs.

And that was something he knew needed remedying.

The full debriefing with the special task force took longer than he'd expected. Though loathed to admit it, Castle was ashamed he'd let his temper get the better of him when squaring off against Agent McCord. The woman just knew how to push his buttons. Compounded on that was his anger over how she'd pressured Kate into the undercover assignment. Oh, he knew his fierce girlfriend didn't need that much convincing once the importance of the case was revealed, but still, from his point of view it didn't really seem like Beckett really had a choice in the matter.

He knew it was an important case. Though, Castle didn't think that Agent McCord or her colleagues knew the full extent of that importance. The only other person present that understood just how significant the events of that day had been was Martin Danberg. Both Castle and his fellow CIA colleague knew that the drug ring must have dealings with the Consortium, or was a front for the secretive organization to gain capital and launder money. The connection with Lazarus was the key component that interested the Agency the most, and was why, Castle assumed, Agent Danberg had been assigned to observe the joint operation between the Justice Department and the FBI.

However, as Castle had soon learned, other interests had become involved. A plant had been discovered, masquerading as a detective inspector from Scotland Yard. Still, Castle was wondering whether the infiltration had been deliberately set up as a means to distract Danberg away from the undercover exercise or steer a different investigation away from the truth. Or both. Had Kilmer purposely placed Colin Hunt in their path, or had it all been a happy coincidence? Castle disliked the notion. He didn't believe in coincidences when it came to Raymond Kilmer. It was something to think about, at least.

When the debriefing was finished, Captain Gates had released Beckett for the rest of the day, the week… even giving her all of the next week off. Castle had expected his extraordinary warrior girlfriend to object, insisting she needed to stay on the case, stay on the job, but she surprised him—and perhaps even Gates—by accepting her commanding officer's suggestion and offer of time off. It left Castle feeling confused and uncertain. This wasn't the behavior he'd come to expect from the stubborn and tenacious cop he'd fallen in love with.

Something else was going on. She seemed distracted.

Castle reminded himself that Kate had been through a terrible ordeal, and it was only right that she'd need time off to recover. But that wasn't who she was. She abhorred showing any sort of weakness, even if it was justified, and as a workaholic, she hated taking leave from work. Kate Beckett was the kind of person to push through the stress and strain, hating to leave something unfinished.

Yet she did.

Kate had merely nodded in agreement when Gates had issued her instructions. She'd glanced briefly at him, and then left, trusting him to follow, which, of course, he did.

There was an awkward tension between them on the ride home from the precinct. They didn't talk at all, only speaking when necessary. He paid the cabbie and she let him. Usually she'd argue with him about who paid for the fare, but she simply acquiesced. She seemed withdrawn, as if she was struggling with some internal quandary. A silence gnawed between them like an awful, terrible void. He was plagued with worry and anxiety.

He was concerned with how she was handling the aftermath of her torture. Hearing of that had made his blood boil, but she'd just shrugged it off, remarking that she'd been through worse. He didn't buy that argument, having experienced his fair share of torture. It was never easy to recover from. Still, Castle hadn't been there during the period after she'd been shot—hadn't even known her yet—so he didn't really know how she'd acted during that time, making it difficult for him to form a baseline for her natural behavior. But aside from her slightly withdrawn demeanor, Kate seemed fine. As fine as one could be after almost dying.

There was another thing that could explain her behavior, especially how she avoided his eyes and touch. And that notion made his heart sink with disquiet unease.

Kate Beckett was a truly exceptional investigator. She had a sharp mind and a keen intellect. It was one of the things that had initially attracted him to the detective. His reaction to her suggestion that someone else other than Vulcan Simmons was Lazarus, wordlessly implying that it was Senator Bracken, had caused her to become suspicious. Castle didn't know what had come over him at that moment when confronted with the question. But there was just something about having those hazel eyes bearing down on him that made him forget almost all his training, allowing some of the guilt and shame over his deal with Bracken to leak out.

It made her suspicious. She knew he was hiding something. He just knew it. During the cab ride she had kept glancing anxiously over at him with an adorable little wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. Despite all his experience in countless CIA operations, at home and abroad, Castle couldn't find the strength to speak, so nothing was said. Silence consumed them, and the uncertainty growing between them festered, which, Castle supposed, was what Kilmer had wanted all along.

But there was more.

Something had happened during her undercover assignment, something that she'd left out of her official report. And it had nothing to do with the water torture or nearly being killed by Harden.

And that unsaid thing unnerved him the most as he quietly followed her as she unlocked the front door.

Kate shrugged her jacket off as soon as they entered the apartment, tossing it into the closet by the door, moving simply on habit and muscle memory. Castle tugged his coat off, trying not to think through his actions, but finding it impossible. None of this was natural to him, not like with her. Kate lived here. And despite his name by hers on the lease, Castle didn't. Not really.

He sighed, watching as Kate walked straight into the living room without even looking back. Her steps were slow and languid. She was tired. He could tell. It had been a very long twenty-four hours for her, yet her posture was stiff, marked with a determined set. Even with all the exhaustion wearing down on her, Kate Beckett wasn't done yet. He slumped his shoulders, accepting defeat and the impending quarrel he knew was soon to come.

She went towards the sofa, but didn't sit down. He stepped into the living room and glanced around, taking it all in. The décor was more her than him. The only thing that really showed someone else lived there were the photos on the mantle, displaying his mother and daughter. He ached to see them again, but new that their reunion would have to wait. Right now, he had to focus on Kate. Castle shifted his feet and tilted his head to the side as he watched her.

Kate simply stood still, as if fortifying herself, preparing for battle, before turning around to face him. Her expression was unreadable, devoid of all emotion except a kind of reproachful confusion.

"What do you know, Rick?"

His eyes snapped up, startled by the abrupt suddenness of the questioning. Castle had, perhaps, foolishly hoped that they'd have a little wind down time before the interrogation got started. They hadn't seen each other in months and he had wanted to spend some quiet time with his girlfriend, becoming reacquainted, relearning that intimacy they so easily shared straight from the start. In short, he wanted a proper reunion with the woman he loved, but that wasn't to be. That wasn't how Kate Beckett operated. She couldn't shut off her busy brain. She couldn't let things lie.

He knew that more than most. Accepted it.

"Huh?"

She growled, flashing him an irritated look. "Don't play dumb with me, Rick," she all but hissed his name. Things were serious when she used his first name. They both knew she did it on purpose.

"I know a lot of things, Kate," he answered, narrowing his eyes as he assessed her rigid posture. She was standing in the middle of their living room, hands on her hips, jaw set in a tight, unyielding stance, ready to stick it out for as long as it took to get what she wanted. She was relentless like that. An admirable quality. One, however, he wished wasn't directed at him.

"Don't bullshit me, Castle!" she snapped, angry. Her eyes flashed with a fierceness that was both hot and scary at the same time.

He licked his lips and swallowed.

"Lazarus is Bracken."

"I've surmised that much," Kate grunted, folding her arms across her heaving chest, unimpressed. "Tell me something I don't know." She took a step closer, and reached up to cup his face in trembling hands. "I almost died last night, Rick. They were going to kill me. They wanted me dead. But Elena Markov stopped them. She saved me."

"What are you not telling me?" he asked, curling his fingers around the bony jut of her hips. "What didn't you tell them? Tell me now. I'm listening."

Her nostrils flared as she glared up at him. She dropped her hands and stepped out of his tender embrace, shrugging his hands off.

"Lazarus sent her," she told him. "That's what she said."

"What?" he blinked, stunned by that revelation. She had left out that part during her debriefing. "Why?"

"She said that by sparing my life, the deal you made with him was now null and void," Kate said, brow twisting into a frown. "What deal, Castle? What was she talking about?" When he didn't immediately answer, she dropped her hands and backed away from him, glaring up at him with accusatory eyes, filled with hurt and confusion. "Are you a part of this, Castle? Are you involved in a cover up?"

"What!? No!" he protested immediately, half offended by the very insinuation, but understood her reasoning, so he shrugged off the hurt feelings that she'd even suspect him of willingly assisting in the cover up of her mother's murder.

She growled, "Then explain it to me, Rick. Don't let me fill in the blanks, because—trust me—you don't want me to do that."

He reached for her, but she stepped back and held up her hands. His chest tightened, heart clenching with the pain of such a reaction. She'd never shunned his touch before. Perhaps he deserved it. He'd always feared this would happen when the truth came out. He thought he was prepared for it, but he wasn't. It wasn't something he could ever really be prepared for.

"No," she shook her head. "Tell me, Castle. Now."

He sucked in a shuddering breath, and dropped his gaze. It was time to admit the truth, confess his sins.  
"I went to see him."

Dead silence met him. He glanced up, seeing her standing there, stock still, like she was frozen in place. Kate slowly blinked her eyes, processing. He didn't even need to say _his_ name for her to know of whom he spoke. Her gaze unfocused for a second before narrowing back on him.

"When?" she demanded, barely controlled fury lying underneath.

"Three months," he answered, cautiously meeting her eyes. "The night after we put the pieces of that bank account together and discovered it was him, that _he_ was the one responsible for your mother's death."

Her eyes narrowed and the muscles in her jaw rippled as she absorbed the information. "What was the deal?"

He hesitated before responding, fearful of her reaction. Sighing, he surrendered, slumping his shoulders in defeat. He had always known it would come to this. He had known that from the beginning. But it had been a risk he'd been willing to take. If it kept her alive and safe, he'd do it again, even if he lost her forever. "I said I had the files."

"What files?"

"Montgomery's files," Castle elaborated. "The files he sent to Smith. The same files Kilmer then killed Smith to obtain." He paused for a second to catch his breath. "I threatened him with those files."

There was a pregnant pause.

"You bluffed him," she concluded, half impressed, half incensed.

"Yeah," he scrubbed a hand down his face. "I did. So, I got him to make a deal. You'd be safe, protected. But even with the files in play, he wanted more assurances."

"What assurances?"

Castle pursed his lips and swallowed hard, knowing this would be the most difficult part. He glanced up at her with large eyes, practically pleading with her to understand his reasoning, even if she didn't agree with it.

"Castle," she warned when he didn't answer immediately.

He sighed. "In exchange, I needed to stop you from investigating, and he'd back off, you'd be safe, protected."

Kate remained silent for an extended interval. Castle tensed and waited for the eruption, but none came, which he found astonishing. She merely pressed her lips into a thin line as she stared at him.

"But you didn't stop me," she commented after a long beat, brow wrinkling, forming a puzzled frown. "We spent weeks doing research, searching for links… _together_. We didn't stop investigating." Then it clicked. Her breath hitched and her eyes went wide. "That jump drive you gave me. You… you told me I needed to plug it into the computer to mask my searches. But… it did more than that, didn't it? Somehow. It was CIA tech. I… God… You… Oh God, Castle, you sabotaged us… _me_."

Castle swallowed and reached for her, but she jerked away, hands up to warn him off, her face twisted with revulsion. It made his heart break.

"How could you!?" she demanded, spinning back at him, eyes alight with fire and shimmering with unshed tears.

Castle stared at her, unflinching, trying to project all his love and adoration, and then spoke in as calm a voice as he could muster. "You know why."  
"Tell me," she ordered, always so stubborn.

"To keep you safe," he answered, knowing it was obvious. "Because I love you."

Her mouth dropped and she stared at him with a look of anguish that tore his heart in two. "You betrayed me," she choked out, near a sob. "You went behind my back and made a deal with the devil to keep me safe."

"I had to," he insisted. "It was the only way to keep you safe. I love you, Kate."

"That's not an excuse!" she snapped, shaking her head. "I don't need your protection. I can take care of myself."

"Like you took care of yourself last night!?" Castle barked back before he could stop himself. She just knew how to push his buttons. He heaved out a breath and held up his hands in apology for the remark. It had been uncalled for. She glared back at him, chest rising and falling with each breath. He sighed. Why did she have to be so damn stubborn that she couldn't see things from his point of view? "If I hadn't done what I'd done, you'd run heedlessly into danger to achieve victory. This isn't a war, Kate."

"The hell it is!" she shouted back. "Last time I checked, it was my life, not your personal jungle gym. My life, Castle. Mine. You had no right to interfere, no matter the reasons."

"So what, I'm just supposed to sit back and watch you get yourself killed?" he questioned, raising his voice to match hers. "Because that's what would've happened, Kate. You know it. Bracken isn't some street punk. He's been in this game for a lot longer, and has powerful friends."

She shook her head, and turned her back on him, refusing to listen. Her shoulders trembled with pent up emotion. Castle had to restrain himself from reaching out for her, knowing that he'd lose if he tried to comfort her when she was still trying to process it all, her way. It always had to be her way.

"Together," she all but sobbed, arching her neck over her shoulder to stare back at him with large, luminous eyes. "I don't care that you made a deal with him. Hell, I'd have done the same. But that's not the point. You didn't even give me a choice. Damn it. We were supposed to be a team, Castle. Partners. We were supposed to do this _together_. Not alone. Together. You promised."

He dropped his hand, not knowing how to respond to that, because yes, she was right. They were supposed to be in this together. They had made that vow on the night they'd learned it was Bracken, that he was the villain behind it all. This whole damn mess was because of that promise, because he didn't want to lose her and be alone once again.

Kate sniffled and rubbed at her nose. He stood there, unmoving, unable to find the right words to say that could fix this. He was blank. And for someone who had long held aspirations of being a writer—always had, long before his recruitment into the CIA—it was an unsettling feeling.

A minute or two, maybe five, passed before Kate managed to collect herself. Her back went ramrod straight, shoulders tensed, and she stalked around the sofa, heading for the cabinet where they stored their hard liquor. Bending down she removed a bottle of scotch and two glasses. Castle watched in uncertain silence as she poured out a serving for both of them. Screwing the cap back on the bottle, she set it down on the flat surface of the liquor cabinet, and picked up the two glasses.

"Kate, I…," Castle opened his mouth, not sure what he was intending to say, but needing to say… something, anything, but she shook her head, stopping him.

"Castle, can you do me a favor?"  
"Anything," he asserted as he moved around the sofa to join her.

"Stop talking," she commanded, holding out one of the glasses for him.

He took it uneasily. His heart pounded wildly beneath his ribcage. He had never felt so uncertain in his entire life as he stood there, holding a glass of scotch and looking down at the woman he loved. He didn't like this. It didn't feel right. They should talk their issues out, not bury them in silence and alcohol. Castle met her unflinching gaze and she stared right back. His protest died before it could escape his lips. Then, in unison—at least they were doing something together—they threw back their heads and downed the contents of the glasses. He swallowed and grimaced around the burn as the scotch slid down his throat.

"So, if we're not talking, then what are we doing?" he asked, unable to stay completely silent. He couldn't help it.

Kate wordlessly refilled his glass, then hers. She held hers up and he mirrored her action, uncertain what was going on. She ignored his perplexed and anxious expression, clinking their glasses together, before downing her drink. He quickly followed suit, closing his eyes as the alcohol blazed its way down his esophagus.

The unnerving silence engulfed them, and Castle didn't know what to do. All he could do was follow her lead. But he didn't know he liked where she was taking them. Then Kate took his glass from him, placing it alongside hers on the top of the liquor cabinet. She released a heavy sigh and glanced back at him with an expression that told him nothing. He was not used to not being able to read her. Castle opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was gone before he could give it voice.

Kate stared up at him for a long beat, wheels turning behind those gorgeous eyes, unreadable and arresting all at once. She ducked her head, the curtain of her hair shielding her face from his curious eyes. And then she was reaching for his hand, and leading him to their bedroom.

XXX

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, engulfing the homicide bullpen in a soft warm glow. The Justice Department agents were still in the conference room, using their own equipment to pursue various leads. Captain Fowler of the Narcotics Division had left three hours ago to meet with the NYPD top brass down at One Police Plaza. Gates hadn't yet been called in, but Esposito suspected it was only a matter of time. The Twelfth Precinct's captain was currently hold up in her office, anxiously awaiting such a call.

"This sucks," Ryan grimaced from his desk, pulling Esposito back from his wandering thoughts.

"Yeah, bro, it does," he concurred with a gruff nod. "Beckett didn't look too good when she left."

Ryan hummed in agreement. "I expected her to object when Gates sent her home, but she didn't."

"What she's been through, I'm not surprised, but yeah," he rubbed his chin, reclining back in his chair as he glanced across their joined desks at his partner, "that was weird."

"At least Castle's back," Ryan put in after a beat. "He'll take care of her."

Esposito grunted as he sat back up, a small frown forming on his face. "Beckett can take care of herself."

"Yeah, I know," groused Ryan, giving him an annoyed look. "Just saying. It's nice having someone to go home to."

He grinned as a bemused expression flashed across his face. "You'd know all about that, Honey Milk?" Esposito chuckled.

"Hey!"

Before the teasing could continue, Ryan's desk phone rang. He grumbled, but picked it up. Esposito tuned him out as he refocused on the paperwork ahead of him. He hunched his shoulders as he leaned forward, squinting at the screen as he glanced over the electronic report. He was thankful the department had switched to digital, even if after they pressed the send button to the NYPD network servers, they still wasted paper by printing out the reports to filing. Bureaucracy, man… it was a bitch. He was just about to finish up the latest report on the Naomi Allen case, when his desk phone rang as well.

He picked it up swiftly. "Esposito," he answered. His eyes grew wide as a detective from Major Crimes greeted him, telling him about the crime scene he was attending.

"_Noticed he was a person of interest in one of yours_," the other man said. "_So, I just thought you'd like to know_."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for the call," Esposito said, glancing over at Ryan, noticing his colleague wore a similar shocked expression. "Keep me updated."

"_I'll do that_."

He replaced the receiver in the cradle, mouth hanging open for several seconds as he tried to process what he'd just been told.

"Javi?"

Ryan's voice snapped him back to the present.

"What?"  
"I got a call from the Ninth," Ryan informed with a shaky voice. "Biggie Slim was just declared dead on scene at a vehicular accident in midtown. Officers on scene believed he was attempting to turn a corner too fast, causing the SUV to roll."

"Biggie Slim's dead?"

"Yeah," Ryan confirmed with a nod, eyes wide.

"Do they have CCTV footage of the crash?" Esposito asked, immediately suspicious.

Ryan shook his head. "No. Their tech guy said there must have been a temporary power surge or something, because the camera around that corner went black during the time period."

"Damn," he grunted, narrowing his eyes, sensing more was afoot.

Ryan took a breath and blinked, having similar thoughts. "What about your call?"

"O'Brien from Major Crimes," Esposito replied. "They got called into the British Consulate. Apparently, Nigel Wyndham was found in his office, hung himself from the ceiling fan."

Ryan grimaced. "Really?"

"That's what O'Brien said," Esposito shrugged. "Found a suicide note and everything."

Ryan hesitated for moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know, Espo," he said after a beat, before giving voice to both of their thoughts. "This seems a bit suspicious to me."

Esposito had to agree. "I hear you, bro. Both these guys showing up dead on the same day, one in a car accident and the other suicide. I'd bet my pension there's more to it. Damn suspicious is what it is. Even if that prick, Colin Hunt, was the one to kill Naomi Allen, both Nigel Wyndham and Biggie Slim looked shifty to me. This can't be a coincidence."

"What do we do?" Ryan asked.

He thought on that, before shaking his head, regretfully. "There's nothing we can do," he asserted. "I hate it too, man, but we've been outflanked."

Ryan rocked back in his chair, brow furrowed. "Should we call Beckett?"

"No," Esposito declared after a moment's thought. "Let's leave her be."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, a half-smile forming across his lips. "Besides, with Castle back I'm sure they're making up for—"

"Jesus Kev," Esposito interjected before his partner could finish that sentence. "I don't wanna hear that shit."

"Why, Javi, you jealous or something?" Ryan inquired, cocking his head and smirking at him, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

"What!?" Esposito scoffed, shaking his head. "Hell no. Just… she's like a sister, damn it. I don't want those images in my head."

"If you say so," Ryan teased in a singsong voice, before righting himself and shifting his attention back to his computer and the paperwork he'd been working on before the twin phone calls.

Esposito sat back, frowning. Was Ryan correct? Was he jealous? He shuddered at the implications. It was too disturbing to contemplate. He didn't want to think about her in that way. She was like a sister to him. He wasn't dead, of course. He looked, on occasion. Appreciated the view, what red blooded man wouldn't? It was hard not to when a woman was as attractive as Kate Beckett, but that was it. She'd kill him if she knew, but that was the extent of his male thoughts when it came to his work colleague and team leader.

Truthfully, he was still smarting from his break up with Lanie. He had thought everything was going great, and suddenly she's saying their done, all she wanted was fun and he was making things too serious. What was wrong with that? They weren't getting any younger and, frankly, Esposito was growing tired of the bachelor life. It wasn't fun to go home alone. Ryan was right about that, at least, even if he was mistaken in other things.

So, no, he wasn't jealous. That was absurd. He just didn't like thinking about what Beckett got up to with that Spy Boy in their spare time. That was private. It was none of Esposito's business. None at all. If she was happy with Rick Castle, then that was that. He was just protective of her, like a big brother would be.

Yeah, he told himself as he narrowed his eyes at the computer monitor, attempting to focus on paperwork, that's all it was.

XXX

It was that strange in-between time of the day, somewhere between late afternoon and early evening. The sun hadn't yet set, so light still shone in through the curtains, illuminating the room in a softness that just wasn't quite right for her mood.

Beckett sat on the edge of the bed, feeling empty and unsatisfied, pondering how things had become so messy and complicated. He lied to protect her, wanting to keep her safe by making the deal with the devil. If she was being honest with herself, she'd probably would have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed.

It gnawed at her insides.

It was like a vicious cycle set on repeat. She thought their relationship was different from those she'd had before, but it wasn't. Not really. It wasn't perfect. Not ideal. They spent far too much time apart. It was like her relationship with Josh repeating itself. She'd simply exchanged a boyfriend with endless Doctors Without Borders missions for one with numerous covert CIA operations. Why did she always have to repeat the same mistakes? Why couldn't she learn from them?

Yet there was one key difference in this relationship. She didn't have one foot out the door with Castle, like she had with Josh. She was fully committed. All in. Maybe that was why this hurt more than any argument or fight she'd ever had with Josh. She had never loved the cardiac surgeon. Never. She'd liked him. A lot. He was handsome, his career and dedication to it admirable, and he was good in bed, really good. But she never found herself missing him when he was away. It was different with Castle. She missed him when he was gone. She longed for him, yearned. And he was handsome, dedicated to his job, and he was not just good in bed, but great… amazing really. Sex had never been as satisfying as it had been with Castle.

Sighing, Beckett arched her neck and glanced over her shoulder at Castle, sleeping soundly, worn out from his long flight across the Atlantic and other activities. Her thoughts drifted to those more recent activities. It had been all wrong. Instead of talking things out, dealing with the issues and her emotions, she had got her boyfriend drunk and simply fucked him.

It was the first time they'd ever had sex that her body hadn't been completely ready for his intrusion, and that alone tore at her guts. That wasn't how it was supposed to be. Sex for them wasn't supposed to hurt. They'd had angry sex before, but not like that. Not where they hadn't at least talked, if just a little, before and/or after getting physical. And she'd always been ready for him. Always.

Sex for them was supposed to be a joyous coming together, a glorious union, a beautiful physical display of their mutual love and affection for one another, not a method used to ignore the issues lying between them. Not now. Not after everything they'd gone through together. And there had always been the underlying emotion of their love driving it, instead of the blank void of nothingness that she'd just experienced. It had been empty, without emotion. Just the physical act. Beckett didn't know what she'd do if she hadn't achieved orgasm.

She had never needed to fake it with him. Never wanted to. Hoped she'd never had to. So, she was grateful for that small favor.

_Some consolation prize_, she thought darkly.

Thankfully, despite the rough start, once things got going, they easily fell into their familiar patterns and rhythms, and even with the depressing, somber cloud hanging over them that sweet peak wasn't difficult to reach, together. That, at least, had remained the same and hadn't changed. However, that was the only bright light Beckett could find. She couldn't even remember if they had actually kissed at all before, during, or after.

And that thought made her sad. Incredibly sad.

Kate Beckett loved Castle, deeply. But she couldn't help but feel conflicted and upset over his unilateral decision to make a deal with Bracken to keep her safe, even though she'd probably have done much the same thing if given a choice. But that was the point, wasn't it? She hadn't been given a choice. He had made it for her. It reminded her of the time when Will Sorenson had decided to accept a promotion that would take him to Boston without consulting her, assuming she'd just go with him.

_Men_, she thought bitterly, _they were all idiots_.

Lowering her head, she scrubbed her hands down her face and carded her fingers through her tousled hair, releasing a long, dejected sigh. It was just all so wrong. She hated it. How had things become so complicated so quickly? It boggled her mind.

She needed a diversion.

The case was beckoning her, even if she was technically on paid leave. She craved the temporary distraction from her personal problems. Perhaps she could find her answers there.

Vulcan Simmons was mixed up in all of it. The drug lord was working for Lazarus, whom she now knew was Senator Bracken. There was the link to the political Super PAC—FUTURE FORWARD, making her think Simmons and Bracken were in on some money laundering scheme to potentially finance the evil senator's presidential campaign.

Yes, she nodded to herself, she'd find answers there. All she had to do was look. And a little distance would be good, even if it was just for a few hours. But, no matter what, she vowed and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would always come back to Castle. Because she loved him. Always. Despite it all, her anger and disappointment over the situation and his decision, their relationship was one of the most important things in her life. She would not let this destroy that. Destroy them. Never.

But for now, what she needed was time to digest and process all this new information and how she felt about it, and come to terms with that.  
Beckett heaved herself off the bed, and bent to pick up her discarded clothing. She retrieved Castle's as well, clutching his shirt to her chest and closing her eyes as she sniffed it, letting the rich scent that was him assault her olfactory senses. After placing their clothes in the laundry basket, Beckett padded over to the dresser, selecting a fresh pair of underthings. She was just finishing slipping her bra on when the gentle call of her name disturbed her distracted and mulled thoughts.

"Kate?"

It was Castle. He was awake, and judging from the frown on his ruggedly handsome mug, not that long. His eyes were still a little dazed from his post-coital nap, but he was sharp enough to notice that something was wrong.

"Kate?" he repeated, his voice still sluggish and heavy with his exhaustion. "What are you doing?"

She stared at him for a long beat, before shaking her head and striding over to the closet to select a pair of pants. "Getting dressed," she stated the obvious as she tugged on dark jeans.

"Why?" he huffed, scrubbing a hand down his sleepy face. The dazed look was starting to fade, and the worry was beginning to creep in. His eyebrows knitted together. "Where are you going?"

He was there when Gates told her she had the rest of the week, and next, off, so she couldn't use work as an excuse. And she didn't feel like telling him the truth, because she didn't want to have another argument.

"Out for a walk," she lied. "I need some from fresh air."

Castle shoved the covers away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I'll come with you," he offered, his eyes almost pleading.

"No," she said, a little too sharply. She took a deep breath and retrieved a dark t-shirt from the dresser. Glancing back at him with a softer expression, she offered a small smile and repeated, more gently, "No thank you." She pulled the shirt over her head and tugged the bottom down to her waist, shaking her hair loose from the collar. "I… I just need some time alone, to think."

Castle rubbed a hand over his jaw and narrowed his eyes as he assessed her with a knowing look. She averted her gaze and turned to the tall vanity mirror, focusing on her appearance, fixing her hair. She could see his reflection in the mirror, staring at her from his spot on the bed. He pursed his lips and frowned.

"All right," he said after a long beat, clearly reluctant. "If you're sure."

Her heart squeezed with gratitude. It amazed her how much he understood her. She graced him with an appreciative glance, and inclined her head. "I'm sure, yes." Satisfied with the way she looked, Beckett strolled over to him and cupped his jaw in her palm. "Go back to bed," she instructed, and then leaned in to kiss him. It was almost perfunctory, without any of the usual passion or desire, and that broke her heart just a bit. She hated leaving so many things unsaid.

Castle closed his eyes and sighed, seemingly unaware of all her inner turmoil, but she knew from experience that appearances could be deceiving. Flicking her tongue out, Beckett dove back in for one more kiss, this time adding more passion to it, needing a reminder of the love they shared while her mind was all so jumbled with lies, betrayals, and dubious deals. Retreating, she slipped into some sneakers and stepped for the door, but halted when a thought occurred to her. Twisting around she gazed back at him, like the concerned girlfriend she really was, at least for just a second.

"Castle, call your Mother," she instructed, remembering that Martha and Alexis hadn't seen him for the same amount of time as her, and both would be desperately happy to see him.

"Right, right," he bobbed his head as he plopped back down on the bed, running his hands through his mussed hair. "I will. Promise."

"Good," she murmured, and then paused, glancing back at him with a deep sense of longing and sadness welling up inside her. "Love you."

She slipped out of the bedroom before she could hear his echoing reply. And then, after a quick stop in their shared office on the other side of the living room, and after grabbing one of her favorite leather jackets from the closet by the front door, Beckett simply left without another word, heart heavy and mind muddled with contradicting thoughts, hoping and praying that this bump in the road wasn't enough to break them.


	21. Chapter 20

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 20**_

* * *

He relaxed into the backseat as Piotr drove the SUV aimless through the streets of the Big Apple. The idea was to just keep moving, not stay still in one place. It was easier for your enemies to track you if you stayed still. His fingers itched, wanting to be behind the wheel, directing his own path. Giving up control, even just a little, was difficult for him. But it was necessary. If he were to manage an operation as large as Johann Kriedt's old arms dealing organization, then Kilmer had to learn to prioritize and delegate.

Sitting beside him in the back, Rajko Kápa was staring out the window, brow furrowed in a contemplative frown, until his ruminations were disrupted by the shrill ringing of his cellphone. His right-hand man pulled the device out and answered. "Yes, he's right here," Rajko turned. "It's him."

Kilmer held out his hand to take the phone from Rajko. "What do you want?"

"_I need a status update_," came the voice of Lazarus. He was clearly aggravated.

"I don't report to you," Kilmer answered, annoyed. Once, he had. But that was back when he was simply 'The Knave', a mercenary out for hire. Now he was more. Much more. With his control over Kriedt's old organization, the Consortium had to take him seriously. And with his new-found power, Kilmer found his ambitions growing. He wanted a seat at the table. He wanted to be in the room where it happened.

"_Yes, you do_," Lazarus nearly raged. "_Because of you my source within the Twelfth Precinct is gone_."

Kilmer laughed darkly. "You're still worrying about that bitch cop?"

"_You don't know how tenacious she can be_," Lazarus answered from experience. "_Her and Rick Castle are a dangerous combination_."

"We're playing chess, sir," Kilmer explained, doing his best to be polite. Even though he loathed the man, he still needed the man's support within the Consortium. "Sometimes you need to sacrifice a pawn for the larger game."

"_And what exactly is your game? Because it's not ours… not mine_," Lazarus asserted.

Kilmer narrowed his eyes as he stared out the car window, watching the denizens of New York City go about their small, pathetic lives, obliviously unaware to the dangers around every corner. He supposed that yes, sometimes ignorance was bliss.

"Let's just say our interests align," he answered, enigmatically. "That should be enough."

"_Fine_," Lazarus grunted, clearly displeased. "_What's next?_"

"You won't have to be worrying about Detective Kate Beckett for much longer, sir," Kilmer smiled thinly. "The plans we've set are in motion. Just… be prepared. You'll know when it happens." He enjoyed taunting the man with the knowledge that he was forced to rely on others to carry out his machinations. Kilmer still felt Lazarus was too personally invested to see things clearly, but he could do little to change things when the Board had yet to see him as an equal and agree to a meeting.

"_Very well_," Lazarus relented. "_Just keep me informed_."

"I won't," Kilmer answered, and disconnected the call. He grinned to himself and handed the phone back to Rajko, who gave him a quizzical look. "Everything is going as planned. It'll all be over soon, my friend. We have one stop to make, then we'll head back to the plane and prepare for the next phase."

"Sir," Rajko nodded, and leaned forward to tap the back of the front seat. Piotr responded with a nod and Rajko informed him of their next stop.

Kilmer relaxed back into his seat and smiled.

XXX

There was nothing quite like the experience of receiving a hug from Martha Rodgers. It was like being swept up in a vibrant flood of colors and sounds. But for him, strangely, it was like coming home. She was, after all, his mother.

"Oh, Richard darling, it's wonderful to see you!" Martha exclaimed, wrapping him up in a twirling, spinning embrace that almost left him dizzy. She pulled back with a wide, infectious smile. "Look at you, my boy, handsome as ever."

"It's good to see you, too, Mother," Castle returned the grin, squeezing her arms affectionately. A weight on his chest seemed to lessen at the sight of the red haired theatre diva. Kate had been right in suggesting he call his mother. It did him good to see her. "Where's Alexis?"

"Right here!" a bundle of bright red hair flounced down the stairs and collided with him, causing him to temporarily lose his breath. Skinny, but strong arms wrapped tightly around his broad frame as his daughter burrowed into him, burying her head against his chest.

Castle let out a contented sigh, feeling more knots of tension and worry uncoil in his chest and shoulders. He draped his arms around her smaller frame, and tugged her closer, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the fiery crown of his daughter's head.

"We missed you, Dad," Alexis informed him, pulling back and beaming up at him. "Oh, does Kate know you're back? She gets worried, you know. Just like us. You're away far too often. Don't you think? I think so. I know Grams agrees."

She went on like that for a while, jabbering away, as both she and his mother led him into the living room of the loft, where they sat down on the sofa, with him in the middle. All Castle could do was grin. It was still a little surreal, having a daughter. He hadn't learned of her existence until two years ago, but those often talked about paternal instincts had surfaced so quickly. The flight from the CIA and Sophia Turner had created a special bond between them, one that he had initially feared they'd lack due to the short time period which they'd known each other.

"So, my dear, how long are you back this time?" Martha questioned with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look.

He hesitated before answering, shrugging his shoulders. "Honestly, Mother, I don't know."

Alexis gave a small nod. It pained him to see the resigned look on her youthful face. Life hadn't treated her well. She'd been lucky enough to be adopted by a loving couple, but then the Harpers had died in a car accident. After which, she'd spent much of her young life bouncing around the foster system until her keen intellect and genius level aptitude for mathematics had drawn the interests of the CIA. Since then she'd become a ward of the State—though treated like an asset, kept in Agency facilities, where she was encouraged to grow intellectually, but remained isolated, her only social contact coming from the agents who supervised her care and work.

Now, after securing her freedom from the clutches of his employers, Castle's daughter had missed out on high school and other such means a young person learned to interact with their peers, and was now trying to navigate the stress and chaos of college as a teenager, while still learning what that actually meant.

"Still on the pre-Med path, daughter of mine?" he inquired, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

Alexis cheered at that, bobbing her head excitedly. She had a brain for numbers, equations, and such, and had worried that her shift in studies would be hampered, but the opposite was true. Alexis was excelling in her pre-Med course work at Columbia. He smiled, genuinely happy that his daughter could find a field of interest outside of the one that she would always associate with the CIA and what they had made her do. He hated he'd been a part of that, even unknowingly, when he'd been assigned to her protection detail. But that had also led to him discovering the truth of her identity and their relation. He wouldn't have her now if that hadn't happened.

"Good, good," he nodded, listening while not understanding half the things coming out of her mouth. Castle prided himself on being educated and well informed, he had to be, for both his job and with writing his stories, but there were certain things that went right over his head.

"Alexis has a boyfriend," Martha's statement cut through the rest and immediately snapped him into attention.

"What!?" his exclamation came out in a strangled choke.

"Grams!" Alexis groaned, her pale face brightening to a rosy pink. She folded her arms around her chest and shook her head. "He's not my boyfriend. Max and I are just friends."

Castle nearly went apoplectic. "Just friends?" he repeated in horror, remembering using the exact same code when he was her age. Damn, fatherhood was a lot more stressful than he had been expecting.

He heaved in a deep breath, needing to rein in some of his overprotectiveness. Yes, Alexis was his daughter, but he wasn't really around that much to be an actual parent. That job went to his Mother. And while he trusted Martha Rodgers, there were still some things, as Alexis's father, he wanted more input in. He flicked a gaze at Martha, who simply raised her eyebrows and threw up her arms dramatically.

"Yes," Alexis went on, recovering some of her pale coloring. "Just friends. Besides…," she hesitated before continuing. "He's just two years older than me, so it shouldn't really matter."

"But… but…," he stammered out.

Martha placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Now, Richard, remember, Alexis is a smart and responsible young woman, nothing like you—or myself, for that matter—at that age. You can trust her."

Castle pursed his lips and swallowed hard, meeting his mother's eyes. He inhaled a deep breath, calming his rapidly beating heart, and turned to his daughter with a relaxed smile.

"Yes, yes," he said, forcing the words out, for his daughter's sake, as well as his own, he supposed. "I trust you, Alexis. Just…," and he added this last part for Martha as well, "when he's over, leave your bedroom door open."

"Always do," Alexis chirped back triumphantly. "My rules."

"Honestly, Richard, I don't know where she gets this streak of responsibility, it's mindboggling," Martha declared.

Castle nodded numbly.

"Don't worry, Dad," Alexis patted his knee, sympathetically. "I'm not as wild as Kate was. Gosh, from some of the stories she's told me, I'm surprised her parents didn't ground her for ten million years."

"Wha—!?" he couldn't even finish forming the word.

"Now, now," Martha soothed, rubbing his arm. "Why don't we stop this talk before your father as a stroke? Yes? Good. Now, Richard… are you staying for dinner?"

He tilted his head towards his mother, forever grateful, and nodded.

XXX

Agent Danberg watched as Vikram Singh settled into the station next to Agent Riley. At first, the other agent had bristled at the idea of a new computer specialist joining him in his analysis and search using the information on the Consortium and it's controlling body, the Board, gathered from Susan Ortiz's recent interrogation of Colin Hunt, but after Danberg had reiterated the importance of the assignment, Riley had reluctantly agreed that help would be welcomed. The two men shook hands and, after a brief discussion, got to work.

Smiling, Danberg turned to leave the operation center, but before he could open the glass door, his phone rang. Digging it out of his pocket, he answered it without checking the ID.

"_I'll be meeting with the Director in just a few minutes_," came York's harried voice. "_He's not happy. Do you have any good news for me?_"

Danberg caught him up to speed on the latest developments with Vulcan Simmons's drug ring and the links they'd uncovered that showed money laundering going on that fed into the Super PAC going under the moniker FUTURE FORWARD.

"I've got both Singh and Riley looking into it now, seeing if there is anything that ties it back to the Consortium," Danberg said. "Ortiz got more details from the Colin Hunt imposter. He's starting to sing."

"_What's your recommendation regarding Castle?_" York asked, sounding wary. "_Can we trust him?_"

Danberg sighed. "You know him as well as I do, sir," he replied.

"_That's not an answer_."

"We can trust him to do the right thing," Danberg said after some thought.

"_That will have to do_," York grunted. "_Keep me in the loop_."

And then the NCS Director hung up. Danberg stared at his phone for a long beat, before shaking his head and putting it back in his pocket.

XXX

She had lied. She felt terrible about it, but it had been necessary. Castle would have wanted to come with her, maybe even stop her, but that's not what she needed right now. Beckett had left to take a walk, but she hadn't gone very far until she was hailing a cab and riding across the city to Washington Heights. The cabbie had expressed concerned about leaving her there with the sun setting, but she shrugged off his worry and shut him up with an extremely generous tip.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, Beckett slinked down the grimy street, ignoring the curious and confused looks cast in her direction. Before leaving the precinct, Beckett had taken a quick glance at the file the FBI had on Vulcan Simmons. And though she'd accepted her captain's order to take a brief leave of absence, Beckett had never intended to just sit around and wait for others to finish the job. That wasn't her style.

Besides, right now she needed to do something to distract her from the complicated mess that was her personal life, and diving back into the investigation on the drug ring seemed to fit the bill. Beckett chose to ignore the fact she was being reckless heading off alone without back up, falling into old habits, running away and going rogue. After what had happened during the undercover operation, it was like she needed to prove something to herself. Anyways, she'd always excelled at repressing her feelings and focusing on the job. It had worked before. It would work now.

But her thoughts kept betraying her, going back to Castle, and how she'd left things with him. She felt terrible about it. She shouldn't have used him like that. It had been wrong. It shouldn't have been the way they reunited after all their time apart. She would fix it, she promised herself. Beckett was already more than halfway there to forgiving him for making that deal with Bracken, as she understood his reasoning behind it, knowing she'd have done pretty much the same thing if given a choice. She just needed one more thing from him. It hadn't been a random thought that had her telling him to call Martha. She was sure that his mother, though pretty crazy herself, could guide him to what was needed. She'd have to trust in that.

Rounding a corner, Beckett spotted her destination. It had seen better days. The building had become run down in the poor economy, and looked it. The bricks were worn and battered, the corrugated garage doors covered in layers of graffiti. A sign, not fairing any better, mounted above declared the business that supposedly operated out of the dilapidated structure: TRUCK REPAIR & SERVICE.

From the glimpse she'd of the Simmons's FBI files, Beckett had seen surveillance photos, dating back two weeks, that showed Vulcan Simmons outside this very building. There was a strong probability he might be inside. And if not, then perhaps she might find some clues that could lead her to him or to his employer… Lazarus—who she now knew was Senator William H. Bracken.

Jerking her head right and left, Beckett checked for potential witnesses. Seeing no one in the surrounding vicinity, she hustled across the street and slinked up alongside the building, moving with purpose, yet also with a fair amount of caution as well. She'd been led into a false sense of security before, and she wasn't going to let that happen again. Digging into her jacket, she removed her backup piece, which she had retrieved from her home office before leaving the Gramercy Park apartment.

Beckett slipped around the side of the building and located a back entrance. She narrowed her eyes, gauging the rusted locks on the door. Rearing back, she brought her right leg up and kicked. The metal creaked and groaned, giving away. The old padlock snapped and the door swung open, slamming with a loud metallic clang. Raising her weapon, Beckett darted her eyes around before crossing the threshold.

The interior of the building was dark. Beckett dug a small flashlight out of her pocket and flicked it on. The beam of light shot out across the void, revealing a large auto repair workshop. Several semi-truck tractor units sat in rows adjacent to the closed corrugated garage doors outside. Such a sight should be expected in a business that repaired trucks. The business had to be a front. It had to.

She crept further into the workshop, sweeping the flashlight beam over the row of semi-truck cabs until it landed on something out of place. An odd sock. Sitting off to the side, not entirely out of sight, but not the center of attention, was a car covered in a dirty tarp. Holding her breath, Beckett did a quick check of the surrounding area, before approaching the covered vehicle and holstering her weapon. After one final glance, she yanked the tarp off and away, shoving it to the side.

Revealed underneath was a high-end black sedan. Narrowing her eyes, Beckett shined the flashlight into the interior. She recognized those seats, that steering wheel. Nodding to herself, she concluded that this was the car Harden had used to drive her to Mr. Potter's suburban house and back to the mansion in Scarsdale. Rotating her wrist around, she twisted the flashlight down to inspect the seats. Nothing. Rounding the vehicle, she tried the trunk latch, but it was locked. Beckett then moved to return to the front sedan, deciding she should check to see if the forward doors were unlocked.

Suddenly the overhead lights flickered on, temporarily blinding her. She blinked fiercely and drew her gun, swinging around quickly to spot Vulcan Simmons emerging from behind a metal column. He flashed her an amused grin and chuckled, not at all threatened by the weapon pointed in his direction.

"Get a girl's hair wet and they never let it go," he teased as he stepped forward. Beckett matched his approach, step for step. "You are _not_ going to shoot me, Detective."

"No?" she challenged through gritted teeth, reaffirming her grip. "Then take another step!"

He stopped, tilting his head to the side as he regarded her with cool, calculating eyes. Simmons shook his head and laughed, waving a taunting finger at her.

"Now, now, Detective," he grinned, speaking in that damn smooth voice of his, sounding so sophisticated and righteous, like he wasn't just another scumbag drug dealer. "Think about it. Me lying dead? You here trespassing? With that big old grudge you carry? What are your bosses going to say to that?"

"Harden used that car," she asserted, jerking her chin towards the vehicle behind her. "It's one of yours, isn't it? And you drove it here. I just bet your prints are all over it. Probably some trace evidence in the trunk that can help prove you're the head of the drug ring."

"Hearsay, nothing more," he scoffed, chuckling, not the least bit concerned. "That proves nothing, Detective. You have no proof besides your own testimony that I was even there. And how much is your word really worth, I wonder?"

"Enough," she growled, glaring daggers at him.

Simmons chuckled. "Well then, it's a good thing you have a warrant," he conceded.

Beckett faltered, breathing sharply through her nose as the realization hit her. Simmons cocked his head and his smiled widen.

"You do have a warrant, don't you, Detective?"

She pursed her lips and swallowed hard, refusing to answer, remaining steadfast in her stance, keeping her gun pointed at the villain.

He clapped his hands and roared with laughter, enjoying himself at her expense. "Oh, now, see that's a shame," he said. "Because now all that 'evidence' has become fruit of the poisonous tree. My lawyers and I thank you." He steepled his hands together and performed a little mock bow.

Beckett shook her head, refusing to give up. "Who do you work for?"

Vulcan Simmons straightened his back and looked down on her with an almost pitying look. It made her sick. He pursed his lips and grinned.

"You lost this round, Detective," he declared, definitive. "Now, run along."

Her eyes narrowed into slits and she adjusted her grip on her weapon. "Not until I get some answers," Beckett gritted out, and then stalked forward, her aim steady and firm, determined.

XXX

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you, kiddo?"

Martha's question caught him off guard. Castle jerked his head up, eyes wide, a startled look plastered all over his face. His mother offered him an amused grin, and swayed over to him, the eye-bleeding neon bright green and orange dress billowing around her. She gently reached up and patted his cheek with a sympathetic smile.

"Don't look so surprised, darling," Martha assured. "I'm your mother, of course I'll notice when something is bothering you."

Dinner had been wonderful, exactly what he'd needed. In his line of work, he forgot just how nice it was to have a family, to sit around a table at the end of the day and share a meal. He got to hear more about Alexis's college life, thankfully most of it was centered on academics, but he was pleased to learn she was making friends and being sociable. She needed that stuff. After the chaos of her youth and early teenage years, Castle wanted his daughter to have an average, normal—if there was such a thing—life as possible. His mother had regaled him with her latest theatrical exploits, and some other exploits which he was sure Alexis shared his discomfort about hearing of. Still, all in all, it was pleasing, and comforting, just how easily they clicked as a family, in spite of the unorthodox way they came to be.

Castle sighed and carded his fingers through his hair, glad his mother had waited until after Alexis had went upstairs to study—seriously, how was she even his daughter? "I'm not that obvious, huh?"

"As I said, I'm your mother," she explained, needing to say no more. "Wanna talk about it?"

No, he didn't. But he inclined his head nonetheless and joined her in the living room once he'd finished stacking the dirty dishes in the washing machine. The leftover pizza had already been packed up in a box, so he could offer some to Kate when he returned to their apartment, yet he wasn't certain she'd even be there.

Martha reclined on the sofa and accepted a glass of merlot he'd offered her. She took a long sip and let out a content breath. Castle sat down beside her and gulped down a fortifying drink from his own glass of wine, before turning towards his mother and telling her everything, within reason, starting with the deal he'd made with Bracken, though he did keep some details vague, such as the vile fiend's name, not wanting to put his mother—or daughter, for that matter—in any danger. Martha listened patiently as he recounted his return to New York, and his confession and Kate's subsequent reaction. A blush did heat his cheeks when he told Martha about how they hadn't really talked about it, just drank scotch and went to bed.

His mother was old enough to understand what he left unsaid, and she knitted her eyebrows together, proving she could be serious and rational despite her wild personality. He joked about it, groaned and bemoaned it at times, but Castle knew he could always count on his mother for sound advice. He might not always like to hear it—what child did?—but it was needed.

"It's been an eventful couple of days," Martha noted, when he'd finished his tale.

"That it has," he agreed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I don't know what I could have done differently. And she has to know I only did it to protect her, to keep her safe, because I love her. She has to know that. That I love her."

"I'm sure she does, kiddo," Martha reached over and patted his knee. "Of that, I have no doubt. That girl knows you love her. And she loves you. But that's not the problem."

"Huh?" Castle blinked, flummoxed. "Then what?"

Martha moved out of her relaxed positioned on the sofa, sitting up and stretching out to place her wine glass on the coffee table. She inclined her head and locked eyes with him. Her gaze was intense.

"I don't think she's angry at your motives, Richard," she explained. "It's more about the method you went about it."

"You mean going behind her back?" he inquired, feeling stupid for asking an obvious question.

"Yes, that," Martha nodded, reaching out to squeeze his arm sympathetically. "You're not stupid, Richard, far from it, but sometimes you don't really use that clever brain of yours." She tapped his forehead with her pointer finger, causing him to blink.

"What do you mean?"

Martha leaned back, the bangled bracelets around her wrists clinking as she moved. "Forget all that spy training of yours, dear, and use that writer's mind," she said. "You need to look at it from her perspective."

He closed his eyes and frowned. "I don't know how to do that."

"Oh, Richard," she cupped his face in her palms and smiled bemusedly up at him. "Of course you can. You're my son! Even though you've dropped the name, you're still a Rodgers! You should have some inherent acting talent, the ability to become someone else. Just, don't over think it, my dear, just go with your gut, it has never steered you wrong before. After all, it led you to Katherine. That girl is one of the best things that has ever happened to you."

Castle gazed at his mother and swallowed. She was right about that. He nodded ever so slightly, and closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he tried his best to shift perspectives, as he would when he changed the character POV in one of his stories. Writing had always been a hobby, even from a young age. In many ways, writing stories had been his first love. Crafting together a plot around interesting characters had always intrigued him, set his mind alight with ideas and thoughts, letting him experience adventures that were impossible for him to do when he was a boy.

So, he did as his mother instructed, thought of his life, their lives together as if it were one of his stories. He saw Kate. He saw himself. They soon morphed into Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook, their literary alter egos. He wrote his stories from Nikki Heat's perspective, her experiences, her voice. He moved away from Richard Castle and over to Nikki Heat/Kate Beckett. And then, just as he was settling into the proper mindset for his badass detective, it struck him.

_Together_.

"Shit."

"Language, Richard," Martha scowled playfully, smirking at him.

He stared at her for a long beat with a dumbfounded expression plastered over his face until it came back to him once again.

"Together," he announced.

"Yes?" his mother coaxed.

"That's what we promised each other at the start," he elaborated, recalling the tears in Kate's eyes when she'd reminded him of that promise. God, what a fool he'd been. He'd registered what she'd said, agreed with it, understood it, but didn't really reconcile it with how his actions had been against that promise. "When all this started, when we found out who had been responsible for her mother's death, we had promised one another that we'd do it together."

"And there you are!" Martha declared with a dramatic flourish of her hands, making the colorful bangles on her wrists clatter.

Castle groaned, slapping a hand to his face. "That's why she's so upset," he realized. "She understands why I did it, can forgive that. She trusted me to hold up to our agreement. And I didn't." He sighed, frustrated with himself. "I disappointed her."

Martha tapped her nose, encouraging him to continue filling in the rest, knowing he could. The faith she had in him was heartwarming. He sighed and gazed at his mother. He loved her, dearly. They might not have the most conventional mother-son relationship, but that didn't matter.

"I get it," he asserted. "I did it without her. I shouldn't have. I should have told her, talked with her about it, discussed it with her. It should have been us, together."

"Bingo," Martha raised a hand in the air and snapped her fingers. "But there's more, Richard. You're missing one key thing."

"What's that?" he asked, at a loss, thinking he'd just latched on to the whole truth.

Martha gave him a look that only a mother could give, and while she hadn't quite used it that many times during his childhood, it was still quite effective. She gave him a pointed look that had always held quiet understanding, and simply asked, "Have you apologized yet?"


	22. Chapter 21

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 21**_

* * *

"This is completely unacceptable," CIA Director Joseph Conrad Reynolds declared from behind his desk in his office at the Central Intelligence Agency headquarters in Langley, Virginia. "I should have been notified the second—_the second_—it happened." He growled, slamming his fist down on the desktop, his Southern drawl growing heavy, seeping through his onslaught. "Officer Richard Castle is a sieve, constantly leaking classified information to his girlfriend, this…," he dropped his eyes down to the report, "this NYPD Detective Katherine Beckett." His gaze snapped up, and he scowled. "I'm very tempted to revoke his security clearance and have him brought in for a formal inquiry, which wouldn't be the first time for him. He has a habit of thumbing his nose at authority, and Christ, I'm growing tired of it, Sam. Damn tired of it."

National Clandestine Services Director Samson York had sat through the entire tirade with grace and poise. His face remained cool, calmed, and collected. His posture was relaxed.

"I understand your feelings on the matter, sir," York replied when the Director had finished his tirade. "And while I do agree with you on some aspects, I advise against any inquiries at this juncture. Like it or not, Officer Castle is a highly visible figure to the Consortium, because of his connection with Ray Kilmer. And, like it or not, Detective Beckett was already entwined in this business due to her mother's murder."

"That may be, Sam," Reynolds concurred, albeit reluctantly, "however, that does not excuse Officer Castle's actions. He left his post in London, absconding with Specialist Vikram Singh. He cannot be trusted. As long as he is in a relationship with this woman, he is compromised to an extent where he's a liability to the Agency."

York shook his head, aggrieved to heard this from a man who was usually so reasonable. Yes, Rick Castle's actions were ill-advised, but that did not erase his value to the CIA. The Agency—as well as York himself—had spent considerable resources molding the man into the agent he was today. If there was anyone to blame for his actions, it was them.

"He will be disciplined, sir," York assured. "I can promise you that."

"Look, Sam, I know you recruited the boy," Reynolds said, somewhat sympathetically. "And that you've spent a lot of time training him. And you have an affinity for him, as if he were a son. But he's always been a bit reckless, more so now that he's with this Detective Beckett. I'll grant you that his success rate had always been high, but in the last couple of years some of his actions have brought his loyalties into question."

York's eyebrows rose in alarm. He shook his head. "That is absurd, sir," he asserted, stunned to hear such a thing. "An outrageous accusation. Even though he's made some foolish decisions over the course of the last two years, I have never had cause to doubt his loyalty to our country."

"Divided loyalty, then," Reynolds offered as a compromise. "Look, Sam, I've reviewed the after action reports from London. It was a mess, all around. I'm not trying to blame anyone for it. From what I can see, it was a set up from the start. Kovaks was a traitor, that much is obvious. It's the reason I approved Operation Mongoose in the first place. Look, I'll concede that Castle did the best he could under the circumstances. All I'm saying is that he failed to follow proper procedure afterwards."

"He'd already been debriefed," York defended. "And he did help uncover a mole within the NYPD. We should gain valuable intel on the Consortium from him."

"Yes, yes," Reynolds waved it off. "But none of that excuses his actions, Sam." He folded his hands in front of him. "I need to make this very clear. I respect your willingness to protect him, admire it even, but there needs to come a time when you acknowledge Richard Castle isn't the agent he once was. It happens to the best of them. Either they burn out and crash, die in the line, or just fade away."

York opened his mouth to object, but Reynolds held up his hand, forestalling him.

"Richard Castle was told on multiple occasions to terminate his relationship with Detective Beckett, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"The first such order came directly from you?"

"Yes," York confirmed. "The second was from Kovaks."

"Dan Kovaks is dead," Reynolds interjected. "While his dealings with the Consortium are still of interest for Operation Mongoose, anything else is irrelevant. Besides, the relationship termination request came from this office. Kovaks was just the mouthpiece at the time."

York nodded, conceding the point. "Then what would you like to do, sir?"

Reynolds combed his hand through his slick black hair. "As I said, I'm tempted to revoke his security clearance," he held up a hand to stop any protests from York. "However, I'm not ignorant of the role he's played in unraveling the Consortium and its numerous associates. And I'm aware that while his departure from London was not authorized, his presence in New York at this juncture is beneficial for Operation Mongoose. Something big is coming, that much is clear from all the intel we've been gathering on the Consortium. Ray Kilmer is still out there. And, though I don't like it, I'll admit, Richard Castle is our best option at drawing the bastard out."

"What exactly are you saying, J.C.?" York inquired, purposely using the informal nickname the two shared while off duty.

A smile cracked through his indomitable façade of severe authority. "We'll let it play out, Sam," Director Reynolds asserted, narrowing his eyes. "See how it all unfolds. And after the storm has cleared, then we'll revisit this matter."

XXX

He liked the night. It suited him. The darkness was like a cloak, providing him with a form on invisibility in which he could operate without notice or outside scrutiny. It felt like home.

Ray Kilmer stepped out of the building, pealing the gloves from his hands. The job had gone exactly as planned, now all they had to do was sit back and wait. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply of the evening air, smelling all the vile scents of the city. Most people would find such odors offensive or repulsive. He did not. They were reminders of the decay that infested civilization, something rotten that needed removal. So, in a way, he supposed, he was like a surgeon, deftly excising a tumor before it turned malignant, saving the host.

He casually strolled down the block, savoring the alone time. He worked best alone. The opportunities to do so were rare and far between, so he wanted to relish the little time he had to just himself. It was like old times, before he joined forces with the Consortium and negotiated his takeover of the organization Johann Kriedt had built. He didn't regret that decision, but he missed the old times. Somehow, he'd felt more free.

Reaching the corner, he took a left and walked two more blocks, before retrieving his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts and made the call.

"It's done," he announced without ceremony.

"_You sure this will work?_" Lazarus asked, anxious.

"It was your plan," Kilmer replied, growing annoyed with the man's neurotic behavior.

"_And it's a good plan, yes, but nothing ever goes as planned_," Lazarus asserted.

"This one will," Kilmer insisted. "I took care of it personally, as a favor to you."

Lazarus laughed. "_You did it for the money_."

"True," Kilmer shrugged, stalking to the right, making his way towards the rendezvous. Rajko hadn't liked letting him go off alone to do this assignment. The man was a worrywart, but a good right-hand man. "I expect payment to be prompt."

"_Already done_," Lazarus assured. "_Check with your man, he'll confirm it_."

"Good," Kilmer nodded, that was good enough for him.

"_Something else_," Lazarus said before he could disconnect the call.

"Yes?"

"_I'd like to borrow some men, two… three at the most_," Lazarus requested. "_For insurance, just in case this doesn't go as planned_."

"That'll cost you extra," Kilmer said.

"_Fifty thousand for each man_," Lazarus promised.

"I want more," Kilmer grinned. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. "I want a meeting."

"_We can't meet, that's too dangerous_."

"No, you misunderstand," Kilmer pursed his lips, fighting the urge to curse at the incompetent fool. "I want a meeting with the Board."

"_Are you insane!?_"

Kilmer stopped at a crosswalk when the light turned red. He watched as the light traffic zoomed by. "It would be a pity if the FBI found out about your money laundering scheme with Future Forward."

There was silence on the other end.

"Oh yes," Kilmer chuckled, darkly. "I made copies of all the originals before I turned the files over to your man. Turn me down, and I'll leak them to the FBI. And your political career, Senator, is over."

"_Very well, I'll see what I can do_."

"You do that, and I want a hundred grand for each man."

There was a long pause as Lazarus considered. "_Fine. You'll have your meeting, and your money_."

"Good," Kilmer hung up and tucked his phone back inside his pocket. A grin worked its way onto his lips as the pedestrian signal flashed on. Yes, he thought as he stalked across the street, everything was going as planned. Soon Detective Kate Beckett would be out of the game. The idiot Castle would be dragged down with her. The lovesick fool would be unable to resist trying to save her from certain doom. The fool.

Kilmer grinned.

He would finally have his revenge.

XXX

Turning the key, a downcast Castle let himself into the Gramercy Park apartment. He narrowed his eyes, ears perking up when he heard a noise. Stalling for a bit at the threshold he listened. His heart clenched with concern and fear when he recognized the voice. But then it slowed and calmed at the resounding quality of it that made it evident the voice was coming from speakers. As he stepped into the apartment and closed the front door, locking it behind him, Castle craned his neck to the left and saw the huddled form of Kate Beckett sitting cross legged on the sofa, the glow of the television screen illuminating her beautiful face. Her long hair had a glossy sheen to it, a quality he'd only ever seen when she'd recently showered.

Stepping further into the apartment, Castle shifted his gaze over to the screen, seeing Senator William Bracken speaking in front of a podium at what looked like an outdoor campaign rally.

"_Those of you who know me know that I have gotten where I am today by doing whatever it takes to get the job done_," he was saying to his supporters. "_That is the kind of leadership our country needs and that is why I am running for the presidency of the United States of America. Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America!"_

The screen flickered to a reporter on scene, hours later, judging from the difference from sunlight to night in the switch. "_Senator Bracken, an early frontrunner, was rumored to have significant funding already lined up from major contributors, and now, months away from the general election, that doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon. Janice Parr, Channel 7 News. Back to you, Dan._"

The screen flashed back to the late local evening news team as they easily segued into another story.

Castle watched, lingering in the foyer, as Kate shook her head and reached for the remote.

"Disgusting," she grumbled from her spot on the sofa, and shut the TV off. When she turned to toss the remote down, she stopped and glanced up, seeing him lurking in the shadows. Her expression immediately softened. She reached up and brushed back a few loose strands of hair behind her right ear. "Hey," she offered an uncertain smile.

"Hey," he echoed back, feeling a little numb as he stepped into the living room, noticing the stack of Chinese takeout cartons littering the coffee table.

Kate noticed his gaze, and gestured for him to sit down. "Want some Chinese? I brought back way too much for just myself."

"No, I'm good, I already ate," he asserted, holding up the box of leftover pizza. "We had pizza. I brought some back in case you wanted some." He put the box on the coffee table as he settled down beside her on the comfy sofa. He smiled to himself, remembering when they bought the piece and subsequently christened it with a very satisfying round of lovemaking.

Kate frowned, but then her eyes went alight with understanding. "You had dinner with Martha and Alexis?" she phrased it as a question, but it was stated as fact.

"Yes, I did," he confirmed.

She bobbed her head, smiling affectionately as she looked away. "That's good. Both of them have really missed you."

"I know," he answered, reaching for her hand. She let him take it as he slowly interlaced their fingers and squeezed. "Thank you."

"For what? Suggesting you call your mother?" she laughed it off, shaking her head. "Just…"

"No," he cut her off, dipping his head and locking eyes with her. "For being there for them while I've been gone. You've been a friend to Alexis, and my Mother. They love you. You've become part of the family." He paused, sighing as he averted his gaze, half ashamed. "More than I have."

"What!? Oh no. No, Castle," Kate insisted, quite vehemently as she shifted to face him more. "Don't say that. You _are_ family. We're all a family."

He could tell by her wide eyes that she was as stunned as he that she was the one making such declarations. Her eyebrows rose up on her forehead and she stared at him with a shocked expression that was absolutely adorable. Castle would have kissed her, just for that, if he didn't have something he needed to say. His mother was right. Kate may understand his actions, even perhaps forgive him for going behind her back, but he hadn't really apologized. He hadn't said the words. And that was important. It was important to say things out loud and not leave them unsaid, where doubt would fester and rot away at the core of their relationship.

Castle heaved in a deep breath, drawing in some courage. He looked her in the eyes again, and her nose wrinkled adorably as she stared back at him, a mixture of worry and confusion plastered across her beautiful face. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, holding on tight as if that connection was a lifeline, watching as her brow narrowed and she chewed on her lowered lip, looking ready to say something, but he beat her to the punch.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

She blinked, startled. "Huh?"  
"I'm sorry," he repeated, slower this time. "I shouldn't have struck a deal with Bracken, shouldn't have gone out and done it behind your back, without consulting you first. We had promised each other that we would do everything together, and I failed to uphold that vow. For that, and more, I'm sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry. I won't make any more excuses. It was selfish."

When he finished, he let out a heavy breath and dropped his head. Kate stayed silent for a long interval before tugging their joined hands up, coaxing his gaze to follow. She raised their hands to her lips, turning them so she could press light kisses to his knuckles.

"Apology accepted," she said with an earnest grin.

He matched it, and slanted forward to smear a kiss to her lips. She eagerly accepted, leaning into him, deepening the embrace. Sighing with contentment when they broke apart, Kate flicked a reproachful look at him and smirked. "Next time, we do it together, okay, like we said we would."

Castle rested his forehead against hers, staring deeply into her eyes, mesmerized by the love and understanding he saw reflecting out to greet him. It was truly breathtaking. She really was extraordinary. He couldn't fathom what he'd done to deserve a woman as amazing as Kate Beckett. But whatever it was, he'd gladly take the credit. He was one lucky guy.

"Agreed," he declared with a grin.

She flashed him a wink and then leaned in for another kiss.

Sighing as they parted, Castle relaxed back into the cushions. Kate followed him, reclining her head against his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his chest, snuggling in. Perfect, he thought, relishing the feel of such close intimacy. He dipped his head down into the rich locks of her hair, still a little damp from her shower, and breathed in deeply of her scent.

He hummed in approval at the aroma of vanilla with that always present hint of cherries. "How was your walk?" he asked lazily, eyes half closed. "Did you managed to get things sorted?"

It took her a while to respond, but she slowly inclined her head, a far-off look in her eyes. "Yeah, I did," she answered, a little distant and somewhat vague.

Castle frowned, noticing the slight change in her tone and demeanor. Something else was there. He would have pushed her for more, but decided that for the moment it would be best to let things lie. They'd just made up over his transgression. There was no reason to stir up the pot once again.

So, he remained silent, and they stayed that way in that pleasant bubble, simply enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. At some point, perhaps after ten minutes of quiet, Kate moved to adjust her position against his side when suddenly her body tensed and she yawned, hugely.

"It's late," Castle commented, glancing over at the ornate clock that stood beside the family photos on the mantelpiece, a Beckett family heirloom. "We should get to bed."

"Bed?" Kate questioned, the exhaustion heavy in her voice.

"Yes, bed," Castle confirmed with a dopey grin. Sleepy Beckett was adorable.

Slowly, blinking lethargically, she sat up with some help. She combed her long hair back from her face, and glanced at him with a furrowed brow. She placed a hand on his chest, stopping him from properly sitting up.

"About earlier," she said, pausing to swallow. "That was a one-time thing, right?"

"What do you mean?" he knitted his eyebrows together, baffled as to her meaning.

Kate ducked her head down and Castle cocked his head to the side, worried.

"Kate?"

"It wasn't right," she said. "We shouldn't have had sex like that. Not without talking things out. It was wrong. It… it shouldn't have been like that."

He swallowed, unsure how to respond, and a little concerned by her tone. "Did… did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No, no," she shook her head, flashing him a look of apology, reaching up to soothe away the worry lines on his face in an attempt to reassure him. "No. I… I just wasn't completely ready, if you know what I mean."

Castle nodded slowly, vaguely aware of what she meant. He was still worried he'd hurt her, but he would have to trust her reassurances that he hadn't.

"I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm sorry," she spoke at the same time, and they both smiled gently at their shared mind.

He reached up and stroked his fingers through her hair, getting a sense of what was really troubling her about their earlier coupling. "What are you thinking?" he tried to coax it out of her.

She glanced down and bit her lower lip as she frowned, mulling over her answer. Her eyes roamed around the room until she found purchase, and then found his again, shining bright with hope. "It was a one-time thing," Kate announced, voice a little shaky, but confident nonetheless. "In fact," she continued, offering him a wicked smile as she stood up and yanked at his hand until he joined her, all her exhaustion seeming to vanish, "we should rectify that now."

Castle opened his mouth to object, noting the late hour, but then thought better of it. He wasn't stupid. He looked at her and the enticing way she chewed on her lower lip as she looked up at him from beneath her brows.

"What do you say, Castle?" she clucked her tongue. "You think you're up for it?" Her eyes flirted down to his groin and he groaned. Damn, this woman really was going to be the death of him.

"Oh, I'm up, definitely," he announced, waggling his eyebrows.

"Good," she declared, smiling beautifully. "Let's go have ourselves a proper reunion."

Castle trotted after her as she tugged him towards their bedroom, a stupid grin plastered on his face. If his girlfriend wanted to stay up late so they could have amazing make-up sex, who was he to argue? He was more than happy to oblige. Besides, he reckoned, they both needed it, to feel close again, relish the pleasure they found in one another, gave to each other. Properly, as she had said. Yes, that would make things right, and in the morning, everything would be as it should. Everything would be all right.

XXX

Morning found Agent Rachel McCord and her partner, Agent Matt Hendricks, showing up at a scene at a location in Washington Heights. An anonymous 9-1-1 call had alerted police to a possible homicide. A patrol car was sent at 6:23 AM to investigate. The uniformed officers arrived at 6:41 AM and proceeded to inspect the building. They found a door in the alley behind the dilapidated structure to be wide open. Upon entering the premises, the uniforms found the body. The deceased was easily identified as Vulcan Simmons. His photo and information had been sent out on an all-points bulletin yesterday afternoon. The scene was immediately locked down. It took an extra hour for McCord to receive notification of the find.

Now she was strutting across the pavement, glancing around at the barricades blocking the street from lookie-loos and rubberneckers. Since it was still relatively early, and considering the neighborhood, there wasn't that many people gathering to watch, but there was still a good number. The uniforms were doing a fine job keeping them back. What they didn't want were any press. Vulcan Simmons was a big deal, so his death would definitely capture the attention of, at the least, the local media.

McCord stopped by the entrance to the building and glanced up at the faded signage that proclaimed the structure to house a truck repair and service business. Her eyes fanned over the worn and corrugated garage doors, covered in numerous graffiti tags.

"What was he doing here?" she mumbled to herself.

"A meeting, perhaps," Agent Matt Hendricks provided an answer to her question. "While we were still building a case against the drug ring, we had some surveillance teams on Simmons, and they spotted him entering and exiting this building a handful of times over the last several weeks. So it's a known hangout, probably a front for one of his other business interests."

"Yeah," she nodded, glancing at her partner with a slight nod. "Perhaps." Shifting, McCord gestured towards an opened door where two NYPD uniformed officers stood on guard. "Let's see what we've got."

Hendricks inclined his head and followed her as she led the way. The police officers stepped aside to allow them entry after they displayed their FBI credentials. The interior was wide and vast, across from here a row a trucks lined the opposite wall facing a hydraulic lift. Several bent and tarnished tables had been placed around at regular intervals, some held parts and tools, others stood empty. She glanced up, seeing the large florescent light features hanging from the exposed ceiling above. The low murmur of CSU personnel echoed throughout the expansive interior. Narrowing her eyes, McCord gazed across the warehouse, towards the cluster of uniforms and plainclothes officers. Amongst them, she recognized the form of the Twelfth Precinct commanding officer.

"Captain Gates," she greeted with a polite nod as she approached the group. "It's rare to see an officer of rank at a crime scene."

"This isn't any ordinary crime scene, Agent McCord," Gates answered her with a terse smile and incline of her head.

"Yes, I see that," McCord noted, arching her neck to take in the way Vulcan Simmons was sprawled out on the cold, concrete floor, blood pooling around his body.

Hendricks came up alongside her and placed his hands on his hips as he, too, took in the scene. "What do we think happened?" he asked.

"Someone tortured the man," Gates answered, gesturing towards Simmons's remains, indicating the obvious signs.

McCord unbuttoned her blazer and crouched down, squinting in the dim light to examine the body. Cocking her head up, she zeroed in on a surly looking medical examiner—Dr. Sidney Perlmutter, if she was not mistaken—as he stood off to the side, making notes on a clipboard.

"Initial findings?" she inquired, standing up.

The man grunted. "Good morning to you, too, Agent McCord," he grumbled, but narrowed his beady little eyes and proceeded with his assessment. "Based on blood patterns, he was shot five times over the span of a half an hour or so. I can get you a more precise time once we get him back to the lab. The killer started at the knees, then shoulders, and finally, a fatal round through the heart."

"It seems like the shooter may have interrogated him, inflicting pain to get information, perhaps," Gates supplied once Perlmutter had finished his report.

McCord nodded, exchanging a look with Gates. "What about forensic evidence?"  
"Not much to go on," Perlmutter scowled, answering before Gates could. "Our killer was careful. Picked up the spent shell casings."

"What about ballistics?" Hendricks inquired.

Perlmutter swiveled his head towards McCord's partner and stared at him. "You kidding me with this?"  
Hendricks raised his eyebrows and glanced towards McCord before turning back to the old curmudgeon. "What do you mean?"  
"Take a look at the gunshot wounds, young man," Perlmutter instructed with a condescending tone. "See how violent they look, all the scarring and damage?"

McCord joined her partner as he took a closer look at the wounds the ill-tempered medical examiner had indicated.

"Are the bullets too damaged?" Hendricks questioned, but she knew he was wrong.

"Because they're gone," Perlmutter confirmed McCord's guess. "Whoever did this dug them out of the body."

"In other words," McCord said, locking eyes with the unpleasant man, "the killer knew what we'd look for and covered their tracks."

Gates folded her arms over her chest, and frowned. "Agent McCord," she said after a long beat. "You know Vulcan's world. Any idea who might have done this?"

McCord thought. She had several possibilities, but considering some were classified, and no one saved herself and her partner had clearance for those, she remained silent on that number. "Do we have any witnesses?"

"None that we've found so far," Gates said. "But we did find the car Mr. Simmons was driving." She gestured towards the right where CSU personnel were circling a high-end black sedan, a dirty tarp laying off to the side. They were taking photos, dusting for prints, and swabbing for DNA trace evidence. "It matches descriptions Detective Beckett gave of the car that transported her from the Scarsdale mansion to Mr. Potter's residence and back."

"I see," McCord easily ascertained. "You're hoping to find prints belonging to other persons besides Beckett or Simmons." She nodded, approving. "We'll be able to lock down some identities on other individuals in Simmons's organization."

"We know at least one of them, Harden—the man who abducted Detective Beckett—is dead, but others might have used this vehicle, yes," Gates confirmed. "At least, that's my hope."

"It's logical," McCord agreed.

"Captain Gates, Agent McCord," Detectives Esposito and Ryan walked up, the latter holding an opened notepad in his hand.

"Detectives," Gates greeted with a nod.

"We were just canvassing and we spoke to a witness who said they saw someone here last night," Esposito said, looking uneasy.

McCord caught on to that, and redirected her focus fully on the two detectives. Ryan pursed his lips and swallowed, his blue Irish eyes expressive, showing a kind of hopeless worry. She cocked her head towards him and he squirmed under her scrutiny.

"Detective?" she prompted.

He licked his lips and dropped his eyes, gaining strength from the act of reading off his notes. "A woman was seen sneaking onto the property last night," he recounted. "Witness described her as a 'tall brunette, too good-looking to be in this neighborhood.'"

McCord raised her eyebrows, turning to share a look with Captain Gates. She could tell almost immediately that the other woman was having similar troubling thoughts. This did not look good for Detective Kate Beckett. They'd need to interview this witness again and bring along a sketch artist. McCord offered Ryan and Esposito a brief nod, and stepped away, gesturing for her partner to join her.

Hendricks jogged over. "Yeah?"

"We need to take full control of this crime scene," McCord said in a hushed voice, narrowing her eyes as she glanced back over at Gates and her detectives, the three clustered together in quiet conversation. "We can't trust the NYPD to be impartial."

"What do you mean?" Hendricks asked, eyebrows knitting together as he stared back at the huddled group.

McCord took a deep breath, not wanting to believe it. There wasn't any hard evidence… _yet_, but the witness statement, compounded with the detective's feelings on the dead drug kingpin, made for a compelling theory, one that could not be ignored. She liked the woman. Admired her. But Agent McCord had a strict code of ethics, and, depending on how the evidence landed, this wasn't something she could condone, despite her high regard for the woman.

Squaring her features, she glanced at her partner, and answered his query, "There's a good chance that our prime suspect is going to be Detective Kate Beckett."


	23. Chapter 22

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 22**_

* * *

It all started with a bang.

Pain, excruciating and burning, speared through her chest, throwing her back. She landed, hard, on the wet grass, gasping and wheezing, each breath agonizing. Blue sky was above, vast and endless. The sun was bright. Everything was bright. So very bright. Her vision blurred. Despite the warm weather, she rapidly started to grow cold. She would have shivered if not for the sharp flashes of pain radiating from her chest. It became difficult to breathe. Her throat hurt. Everything hurt. Darkness started to creep in. She wanted it to end. It was too much.

She surrendered to it. She let the darkness take her.

Beckett bolted awake with a sharp gasp, nearly falling out of the bed. She blinked rapidly, startled by the sudden and almost violent return to reality. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, trying to calm the jackhammer of her heart beneath her breast. Utilizing all the techniques Dr. Burke had taught her, Beckett slowly restored some semblance of normalcy.

Wow. It had been a while since she'd had that dream, though she had some suspicions that her recent brush with death might have been the trigger.

Scrubbing a hand down her face, suddenly wide awake and alert, Beckett arched her neck and glanced over to the other side of the bed, feeling her chest swell with intense happiness and contentment at finally having Rick Castle by her side once again. She had missed him, deeply. Beckett had never thought of herself as a needy and clingy, but she hated being parted from him. It was a unique and new sensation to her, this kind of neediness, but she had never been truly in love before.

Last night had been a crazy trip of emotions. But ultimately it had ended on the right note. Being at odds with Castle was never fun. It was a mess. And she hated messes. Thankfully they managed to fix the issue before it could sit there and fester, causing permanent harm. Also restored was the beautiful music they made together. Sex with Castle was fun, invigorating, warm, spontaneous, sensual, enthusiastic, tender, energetic, loving, and, of course, orgasmic. Normalcy, at least in the bed room, had been reestablished.

Their talk in the living room, though brief, had still been enough to right things before they tilted out of whack. Reuniting, properly, had been the icing on the cake, bringing them back to where they were meant to be. Together.

They had made love, fierce and passionate, and all was right in the world once more. Beckett had told him about the night she'd brought her kinky box out, allowing herself to cut loose and go wild, thinking of him, of them. She had brought that box out again, and with Castle hovering above, behind, beside her, Beckett performed a four act reenactment for her captive audience. And then, after she thought she was all but spent, Castle made love to her again, proving she still had more in the tank, sending her over that rapturous edge one more time before sleep claimed them both.

How rude, Beckett thought, that she had then been disturbed by a nightmare of an event that had happened nearly two years ago. She scowled, and rubbed at the spot between her breasts where that fateful day had left its mark. She had hated it, how it twisted and pulled at the most inopportune times. She thought it was ugly, thinking of it as a sign of weakness. But then Castle stumbled into her life, almost quite literally, and changed all that. He didn't look at her scars as signs of weakness. He saw them as a strength, proof of her will to live, to not give up, never back down.

"You're relentless," he had told her once. "Others, they'd come up against a wall and stop. You plow right through it. Unstoppable. It's what makes you extraordinary."

Rick Castle saw her differently than anyone else ever had. He saw more than her exterior. Beckett believed he was the first man she'd ever really allowed to see her soul. Not with Will. Not with Tom. Definitely not with Josh. The closest had been Royce. She had been young, green, and so very naïve, yet her training officer had seen right through her infatuation to see what was at the heart of the matter, and refused to take advantage. Since his rejection, she hadn't let anyone in.

Until Castle.

Rolling onto her side, Beckett flirted her gaze over the man who shared her bed and owned her heart. Castle was lying on his stomach, his head facing away from her. The soft sounds of snoring told her he was still sleeping. Dropping her eyes, she cocked her head and swept her gaze over his familiar form. Just like her, Castle's body held scars. But unlike her, he had many more. His back was littered with a scattering of scars, each holding a different story.

Beckett shifted closer, searching for new marks. There was one on his left arm, just below the shoulder. A slash, probably from a blade. As she examined his body, she leaned down and went south, seeing an unfamiliar jagged cut along his left side, zigzagging around to the small of his back. Pursing her lips, she reached out and touched the new scar, tracing it with her fingertips.

Castle mumbled something in his sleep, adjusting his position slightly, yet remaining flat on his stomach. She smiled softly and skimmed her hands along his back, mapping out all the familiar scars. He was right. These weren't signs of weakness. They were badges of honor, proof of his strength and will to live, to return to her.

Feeling a familiar stirring in her center, Beckett grinned and danced her fingers down the slope of his back, following the curve of his spine, until she reached his magnificent ass. She flattened her palm and spread her fingers wide over the delectable and plump flesh. Beckett loved grabbing it, digging her nails in as he pounded into her, rocketing her over the edge. She licked her lips, reorienting her body on the mattress as she crawled closer, bending down with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Flashing a smile, she opened her mouth and playfully nipped at the flesh of his ass, branding him with her teeth. Castle yelped, snapping awake. The wicked grin dropped from her face as he rolled over and she found herself face to face with another part of his anatomy she loved.

"Kate? What are you doing?" his voice was husky and slurred, still trapped in that place somewhere between the waking world and dreamland.

She glanced up at him with hooded eyes, before reaching out to grab him with her hand, curling her fingers to hold him up as she licked her lips, her intention all too clear. Castle was immediately alert. His hips bucked slightly in anticipation as she bent down over him, opening her mouth. But before she could take him in, the shrill sound of a cellphone interrupted their privacy.

"Yours or mine?" Castle questioned in a strained voice.

Beckett narrowed her eyes as she listened for the ringtone again. Scowling, she let out a huff of disgust, "Mine."

She ignored the whimper of displeasure he made when she pulled her hand away and shifted back around onto her side of the bed. She stretched over to snatch up the offending device off the bedside table. Glancing at the caller ID, she frowned.

"It's Esposito," she announced, disgruntled.

"I thought you had the rest of the week… and next off," Castle almost whined. She didn't blame him. She had been looking forward to spending the morning—maybe even the entire day—in bed having fun with her man.

Nearly seething, Beckett swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, angry at the interruption of her amorous plans. "Yeah, hello?" she answered with a growled.

"Yo, it's Espo," her colleague's tone caught her attention and her irritation lessened a bit. "Is Castle with you?"

"Um… yeah," she twisted around to look back at Castle. He immediately could tell something was wrong. Pursing her lips, she frowned. She pulled her phone away from her ear, and pressed her thumb to the screen. "I've put you on speaker. What's going on?"

"We found Vulcan Simmons this morning," Esposito's voice emitted out of the device in her hand, which she held between her and Castle, who had scooted closer to her.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Beckett questioned, perplexed by his tone.

"You'd think, yeah," Esposito agreed with a nervous chuckle. "But, no… not so good." His voice dropped, as if he was worried about someone over hearing him. "We got to the scene first, but once Agent McCord arrived we were out. It doesn't look good, Beckett."

"I don't understand," she exchanged a confused look with Castle. He shook his head, just as baffled as her. "Espo, you're going to need to just spit it out. What's happened?"  
She could hear him take a deep breath on the other end of the line before answering. "Vulcan Simmons is dead, Beckett. He was murdered."

Beckett narrowed her eyes, absorbing the information. Yeah, it wasn't good. "We're coming in," she announced.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Esposito said.

"Yeah, well—"

"Kate," Castle cut her off, and she flashed him an annoyed glare. He reached up and placed a soothing hand on her arm. "I agree with Esposito. It's not a good idea."

"Listen to your boy, Beckett," Esposito urged.

"Shut it, Espo, we're coming in," Beckett repeated and hung up before he could say any more.

She tossed her phone back down on the bed and got up. Castle shifted and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her stalk towards the dresser and pull on a clean pair of panties.

"Something isn't right, Kate," Castle asserted. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"I know," she sighed, arching her neck over her shoulder and glancing back at him as she slipped her bra on, hooking the back strap together. "So do I. But I can't just sit here and do nothing."

He sat there, rubbing his hands up and down his bare thighs, his chest expanding and contracting as he heaved in deep breaths, mulling over his choices. "All right, so we go in and meet with the boys," he declared, slapping his thighs and standing up.

"Castle, you don't need to—"

"Hey, none of that," he said, shaking a disapproving finger at her. "We just reaffirmed our decision last night. We do this _together_. So, I'm with you, Kate, until the wheels come off, hell… even after. I'm with you forever. Always." He smiled, winningly, flashing her a wink as he cupped her jaw in his palm and kissed her soundly. "You ain't getting rid of me."

XXX

Piotr parked the SUV just inside the entrance of the hangar, killing the engine and glancing into the backseat for instruction.

"Sir?" the big man asked.

Kilmer narrowed his eyes. He had left Rajko, and two other men, Sergio and Dekker, downtown to fulfill his latest agreement with Lazarus to provide some muscle. Normally he wouldn't have parted with Rajko Kápa, the man really was indispensable, so close to the start of the next phase of his revenge scheme, but he didn't trust Lazarus, not completely. He accepted the senator's money, however, he was a tricky bastard, and Kilmer wanted his best man there to ensure that his interests weren't ignored in favor of the corrupt senator's plans.

"I need to make a call," Kilmer said to his driver. "Go and tell the pilots to prepare for takeoff."

"Where should I say we're going?" Piotr inquired, raising his thick, Neanderthal eyebrows.

"I'll give them our destination in flight," Kilmer announced, keeping his plans close to the vest.

"Sir," Piotr nodded, and then popped the door and climbed out.

Sitting in the backseat, Kilmer waited, watching through the window as the hulking brute made his way over to the Gulfstream jet. Satisfied with his privacy, Kilmer dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

"_Yes_," came the feminine voice of the Swan.

"Your employer is playing a dangerous game," Kilmer asserted. "He might get himself killed, or worse… caught."

"_Risk is part of the job, you know that_," the Swan replied.

He conceded the point with a grunt.

"Have you been informed?" Kilmer asked after brief lull.

"_Affirmative_," the Swan said. "_The Chairman has convened a meeting of the Board. Your request for an audience has been granted_."  
"Location?" Kilmer asked.

"_You know I can't give you that over an unsecured line_," the Swan reminded with a sultry tone, as if he was even capable of being seduced. She was a fool if she thought that would work. "_I'll send you an encrypted text when you're in the air_."

Kilmer suppressed a growl. He did not like being kept waiting. "Very well," he relented through gritted teeth.

"_See you soon_," the Swan purred, and then disconnected the line.

Scowling, Kilmer stared at his phone in disgust, wondering if he had misjudged the Swan. From their first meeting, he had thought she was competent and capable. Now, seeing what tactics she was employing to disarm him, he was having second thoughts. Shaking his head, he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Soon, it wouldn't matter at all.

XXX

"Does Captain Gates know you called me?" Beckett asked after Esposito ushered them into the break room.

He shook his head. "No, we're keeping this on the DL," he replied, anxiously glancing over his shoulder before slowly closing the door behind them. Esposito turned and frowned as he looked at Beckett. "You shouldn't have come. I told you not too."

She cocked her head and gave him a pointed look. "You know me, Espo, do you really think I could stay home after Vulcan was found murdered?"

"No," he admitted with a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Coffee?" Ryan offered, holding up two mugs.

Castle blanched and declined. Beckett had been spoiled by the rich lattes her boyfriend had plied her with, but she needed that extra kick of caffeine, even if it was the awful sludge from the precinct's coffee pot.

"Sure," she said, accepting one mug and taking a tentative sip. A mild grimace touched her face when the foul flavor touched her tongue, but it was hot and held that kick of caffeine she needed to start the day.

"So, wanna catch us up to speed?" Castle asked, slapping his hands together, feigning enthusiasm for her sake. She knew he disapproved of them coming into the precinct, but she appreciated his support.

Esposito glanced from Castle to her, and Beckett inclined her head, suppressing a smirk.

"Report," she commanded.

Scowling a bit, Detective Esposito ran down all the information for them in an efficient manner, covering all the bases. Ryan chipped in, adding some details that his partner glossed over. Throughout their report, Beckett could feel Castle's eyes on her. She pursed her lips and tried to ignore it, but her gut started to churn the moment Ryan brought up the eyewitness.

"The witness," Beckett latched on, flicking her eyes between her two colleagues. "What did she see?"

Ryan opened his mouth to answer, but fumbled, averting his gaze. Hissing out a frustrated breath, Beckett rounded on Esposito.

"Espo," she demanded, a hint of warning in her voice.

To his credit, Esposito held her stare without flinching back. "She saw a woman matching your general description sneak into the warehouse." He narrowed his eyes, almost suspicious. "Where were you last night, Beckett?"

Her mouth dropped in a silent gasp. "Seriously?" she scoffed. "You're seriously asking me for an alibi?"

Esposito straightened his shoulders and nodded, features set. "Yes, I am. Where were you?"  
"At home," she snapped.

"And what were you doing—?"

"None of your damn business!"

"Kate," Castle interjected, raising his hands and stepping between them. He glanced at her with a soothing look, before rounding on Esposito. "She was with me."

"All night?" Esposito pressed.

Beckett watched Castle fumble. He glanced at her with wide eyes, lips parted, and she knew right there and then that he would lie for her. If she let him, he would lie. But she couldn't do that to him. Not after everything that had happened. They had to tell the truth. Her eyes met his, and a wordless conversation was exchanged in a matter of seconds.

Castle sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "No, not all night. There was period, three or four hours, where she left and I went to have dinner with Mother and Alexis. She was there when I got back, had Chinese takeout."

"That true?" Esposito questioned, jerking his head towards her.

"Yes," Beckett said, hedging her bets. "I needed to take a walk, get some fresh air, think about things."

Castle's brow narrowed as he stared at her. He could tell she was holding something back. She could see it in his eyes. The disappointment.

"Oh, Kate, you didn't?" he groaned softly.

Her breath hitched, and her chest clenched. She stared at him for a long beat, considering her options. Much to her chagrin, she waffled for minute until her earlier decision to stop the lies and stick with the truth won out.

"Yes, I was there," Beckett admitted, letting out a sharp breath at the confession, and feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. She straightened her back and shifted her focus to Castle alone, temporarily ignoring the fact that Ryan and Esposito were also in the break room with them. "But I didn't kill him," and then added, her face dropping with shame, "I thought about it, though."

"What the hell, Kate?" Castle hissed out, eyebrows coming together in a frown. "We had a deal. We just reaffirmed it last night. Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighed and carded her fingers through her hair, pacing back a few steps. "I knew you wouldn't let me go," she bristled, instinctively going on the defensive, even though she knew she was in the wrong.

"You're damn right I wouldn't!" Castle punctuated the statement by jabbing a finger up into the air. "It was reckless."

"It was a calculated risk," Beckett said, turning back around to face him. She abhorred arguing with Castle, especially after they'd made up last night, but she wanted him to understand. "I couldn't let Vulcan slip away. He… he was the only possible link we had that could connect the money back to Bracken. Only I didn't move fast enough."

Castle eyed her with hard, disappointed eyes, then he sighed, and the hard edge dropped from his face, turning sad. "I thought we were done with this, the lying."

It struck her then, what she'd done. The guilt swam up into her chest, and she nearly choked on it. God, she was such a fool. A complete idiot. "I'm sorry," she muttered, stepping into his space, canting her head in apology as she placed her hands on his chest, desperately trying to keep their connection from shattering. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you last night, I did. Honest. But before I could, you were apologizing for making the deal with Bracken, and then we got sidetracked…," she trailed off, glancing over at the boys, having forgotten they were there. Letting her hands drop back down to her side, she put more distance between them. "It won't happen again," she vowed.

Castle inhaled a slow breath, calming down a bit. He scrubbed a hand down his face and tilted his head towards the boys, who were wisely staying quiet during this talk, before cocking his head back to her, assessing her expression and body language with knowing eyes.

"Okay," he agreed.

Relief flooded her body as his eyes locked with hers, letting her know he accepted the sincerity of her apology.

"So, what happened last night?" Castle prompted.

Beckett released a breath and told him. "Before Gates dismissed me, I got a look at some of the files the FBI had on Simmons, and that auto shop was listed as one of his known hangouts," she explained. "He was in the shadows, waiting. It's like he knew I was coming."

Castle clenched his jaw, but remained silent.

"And we had words," she continued, eyeing Castle cautiously. "That's it. I swear. He was alive when I left." When he didn't immediately respond, Beckett took a step closer to him and tentatively reached out to touch his fingers with hers. "You believe me?"

He blinked, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. "Always," he announced, his fingers curling around hers, flexing, squeezing in support. "I believe you."

Beckett let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding in. She stared deep into Castle's eyes, feeling the sense of belonging wash over her that she'd only ever felt with him.

"We believe you, too," Ryan blurted out, interrupting their moment. Esposito groaned and elbowed his partner. Ryan winced and flashed a confused look towards him. "What?"

"Nothing," the other grumbled, shaking his head. "Couldn't you see they were having a moment?"

Beckett rolled her eyes and smiled lightly. "It's fine, guys. And thanks, I'm glad you both believe me."

"Of course," Esposito puffed out his chest. "We got your back, Beckett."

"Yeah," Ryan piped in, nodding almost comically.

She laughed and Castle eyed the pair with a bemused expression. After a second, he turned back to her with a worried frown.

"You didn't see anyone else when you were there?" he asked.

"No. Just him."

His eyebrows knitted together, and Beckett watched as the wheels churned in his head. "What are you thinking?"

"Kilmer," Castle answered in a soft voice, as if he was afraid to even say the villain's name.

"Could he have done this?" she questioned, unsure.

"It's possible," he shrugged. "We've been looking for him for over three months, ever since he disappeared after the assassination. The incident in London was the first time he'd appeared since then. We have no idea what he's up to, or what he's planning. But whatever it is, it's big. Kilmer doesn't lay low for months only to pop up all of a sudden to assassinate two high ranking individuals in the intelligence community, both of whom are suspected members of a large conspiracy."

Beckett frowned, recalling mentions of such a group during her interrogation of Colin Hunt. Martin Danberg had shut it down very quickly once the imposter had invoked the name of an organization.

"Do you mean the Consortium?"

Castle's eyes flashed up to hers with a startled look. "How do you know that name?"

"Colin Hunt mentioned it during interrogation," she explained. "Danberg then ended the interview on national security grounds."

"It's classified," Castle confirmed with a nod.

She offered him a saucy smirk. "Since when has that stopped you."

Castle grinned back, but before he could explain further, Esposito's phone rang.

"Esposito," he answered with a stern expression. "Hold on, Lanie, let me put you on speaker." He waved them over and he held out his phone, pressing the necessary button. "Okay, you're on speaker. I'm here with Ryan, Castle, and Beckett."

"_Kate_," came Lanie's distressed voice. "_We have a problem_. _I shouldn't even be telling you, but… you're my girl, Kate. I can't just stay silent_."

Frowning, Beckett glanced over at Esposito, Ryan, and then at Castle. "Lanie? What's wrong?"

"_Perlmutter found a bullet in Vulcan's body, lodged in his spine_," Lanie explained. "_A .40 caliber. All the other bullets had been removed, except this one. The killer must have missed it_."

"How is that a problem?" Beckett asked, baffled as to why such a discovery of forensic evidence that could give them a lead on the killer be such a problem. "If ballistics gets a match, then—"

"_Ballistics did get a match_," Lanie interrupted, sounding shaky, almost terrified. "_The bullet came from a pistol that was registered to you_." Beckett's jaw dropped, stunned. "_Kate, Vulcan Simmons was killed with your gun_."

"How could it be from your gun? You have your gun," Castle insisted, eyes wide.

Beckett shook her head as she reached out to grab her boyfriend's arm for support. "That's my backup piece. I have a .40 cal in my safe at home."

An ominous silence filled the break room as the four of them all exchanged worried and fretful looks. Esposito took the phone off speaker, and retreated back to speak with Lanie in hushed tones.

"This is a set up," Castle growled. "What did I say? It's Kilmer. It has to be. This whole scenario reeks of him."

She just continued to shake her head. "Your focus is narrowed, Castle. It doesn't have to be Kilmer. Remember what I told you Elena said to me?"

"That in sparing your life, the deal I made with Bracken was now void," Castle repeated.

Beckett nodded, locking eyes with him. "It doesn't have to be Kilmer. This could all be Bracken. He's close to securing the presidency. And I'm a loose end. He can't have that."

Castle shook his head. "No, no… he wouldn't risk that, not when he knows I'm CIA, and can bring them down on his head."

"Can you?" Beckett asked sharply, and then softened her expression so he knew she was not trying to offend. "You've told me yourself that you don't get along well with upper management, as you call them. Besides York, who else in the Agency would listen to you and take you seriously?"

He sighed in defeat. "Yeah, you're right."

She reached up, casually looping an arm around his shoulder, rubbing the nape of his neck in an effort to provide some comfort.

"Whoa!" Esposito shouted, raising his hands. He jabbed a finger in Castle's direction, his eyes ablaze with fury. "You made a deal with Bracken behind Beckett's back!?"

Before Beckett could stop him Castle was shrugging out of her grasp and meeting Esposito's glare head on.

"This is none of your business, Esposito, so stay out of it," Castle asserted in a low voice, calm and collected, but with an undertone of threat.

To his credit, Esposito held his position for thirty seconds until he retreated, grumbling under his breath and cursing in Spanish. Castle released a breath and glanced back at her. She nodded, giving him her approval. She hadn't been pleased with him for making the deal either, but he was right, it wasn't any of Esposito's business. It was between her and Castle. And they'd already made their peace with it. So, there was no need for her colleague to get all in a huff over it. Sometimes Esposito was quite a drama queen, Beckett mused with an inner chuckle as she watched the ultra-macho detective stalk to the other side of the break room to cool off.

"Beckett," Ryan spoke up during the lull in conversation. "Look, I know he can be pigheaded sometimes," he gestured towards his partner, "but he means well. So do I. We… um… me and… We—Espo and I, that is—we've got your back here. But you absolutely cannot tell anyone else you were at that garage."

"I know. Thanks, Ryan." She offered him a grateful nod and smiled, remembering how he had chosen a different path several months ago, insisting they tell Gates about Kilmer's location. His decision to go against the group had ultimately saved her life, so she didn't hold any grudge, unlike Esposito. Still, it was nice to know that this time around, Ryan was completely on their side.

Movement on the other side of the break room windows caught her attention, and Beckett jerked her head around to watch as the elevator doors opened and Agent McCord, along with her partner, Agent Hendricks, emerged from the lift, accompanied by several other men, one of them in a suit who looked familiar. He briefly glanced in their direction before refocusing on following Agent McCord.

Castle noticed her attention was elsewhere and arched his neck around to watch the FBI agents and the newcomers march through the bullpen towards Captain Gates's office.

"Who are they?" Castle inquired, indicating the men trailing behind Agents McCord and Hendricks.

Beckett stood rooted to the spot, already processing what the appearance of these men meant. And it wasn't good. Seeing that she was unable to answer, Ryan stepped over.

"The guy in front is Captain Donovan," he said. "He's Internal Affairs. He took over after Gates transferred here."

Castle glowered as he glanced back to Beckett. "This isn't good, is it?"

Ryan bobbed his head in agreement. "Not good at all."


	24. Chapter 23

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 23**_

* * *

Captain Gates stood behind her desk, holding the folder in her hands, flipping through the files within, making sure to read all the information and data summaries listed. She was stalling for time, and Agent McCord knew it. However, the Justice Department agent didn't object or push, she just stood off to the side of Gates's desk, arms crossed, watching her with a moderately curious expression. The other Federal agent, Hendricks, was positioned behind his partner, features in a neutral set. Gates took her time perusing the documents, much to the aggravation of the third visitor to her precinct, Captain Marcus Donovan of Internal Affairs.

Finished, Gates slowly removed her reading glasses and handed the report back to Donovan.

"I see what the ballistics report says, Marcus, but it's wrong," Gates affirmed, confident in her assessment. "Detective Beckett would never do anything like this."

Donovan ground his teeth. "This isn't a debate, Victoria," he declared in that pompous way of his that she'd always found grating. He rose to his full height, face stern, like a hound on the scent. "I'm just giving you a heads up because we have history."

"Agent McCord?" Gates questioned, ignoring Donovan's bluster. He'd been her subordinate when she was the head of Internal Affairs, before her transfer to the Twelfth Precinct. He was component and good at his job, but he did have tunnel vision, which for an investigator was a huge weakness. "What are your thoughts?"

"Knowing what I know of Detective Beckett, I'm inclined to agree with your assessment, Captain Gates," McCord asserted.

The buoy of triumph was squashed quickly when McCord went on.

"However," she continued, "the evidence is compelling. It cannot be ignored. Detective Beckett may be innocent. She may not. From her file, it is clear she is quite capable of doing what has been suggested."

"Evidence," Donovan reiterated, facing Gates and holding up the ballistics reports. "You taught me to follow the evidence, Victoria. And all the evidence points to your detective. She had means, opportunity, and motive."

McCord reluctantly inclined her head. "He's right, Captain. I'm sorry, but I'm with Captain Donovan of this. Vulcan Simmons's murder has impeded a high priority Justice Department investigation. So, if Detective Beckett had anything to do with it, or has any information she is withholding, then we need to talk with her."

"Now," Donovan said, stepping in, planting his hands on his hips. "Where is she?"

Gates had seen Kate Beckett arrive earlier with her boyfriend, the supposed FBI Agent, Rick Castle. She suspected him of being far more. She didn't know exactly what alphabet agency he worked with, but he was definitely a covert intelligence operative, that much was clear. His relationship with the detective wasn't as secretive as the pair liked to think. The PDA and shared looks were minimal, but just enough for a trained eye such as hers to notice. Though, as of late, they'd been more open about their affections.

Once the couple had arrived, they'd immediately gone into the break room to meet with Detectives Esposito and Ryan, on a subject Gates could easily guess. It surprised her to discover she wasn't upset or angry at the two junior detectives for looping in their colleague on what was going on with the Vulcan Simmons case. It should have annoyed her, but it didn't.

She had a decision to make now. And she didn't like it. Gates had been just like Captain Donovan not that long ago, a dog with a bone, unwilling to give it up. That was before she'd assumed command of the Twelfth Precinct and all those under its roof. They were now her people. She was responsible for them. And while Detective Beckett wasn't as by the book, and didn't adhere to protocol as severely as she herself did, becoming a thorn in her side when she went rogue on more than one occasion, Victoria Gates did not believe for a second that the woman was capable of what the evidence and Internal Affairs were asserting.

Something wasn't right here. She could smell it.

So, she made the conscious decision to stand back. She wouldn't hinder or block the Internal Affairs investigation into Detective Beckett, nor would she help it.

Captain Donovan let out a low growl, seemingly realizing Gates's choice. He glared at her, clearly disappointed in her decision, but said nothing. Turning, he signaled to his man, and wheeled out of her office. McCord offered Gates a tight supportive smile, before following the head of Internal Affairs out into the bullpen.

"Cover the other doors," Donovan ordered, gesturing to the left and right, the duo with him separated and hurried to block the floor's exits.

"You're making a mistake, Marcus," Gates shouted from the doorway, the buzz in the bullpen dissipating almost immediately. "Something else is going on."

"It doesn't matter," Donovan snapped, flicking a disgruntled glance in her direction. "I have my orders." He turned and marched towards the break room.

Gates followed behind in silence, raising a knowing eyebrow. So, Donovan had also noticed the gathering there. Good eye. It also raised a point that his questions as to Beckett's location had been a test to see where Gates's loyalties would lie. A trick he'd learned from her. It was ploy she had used herself, on several inquiries. She was impressed, but also disappointed she hadn't noticed it.

Donovan stormed towards the break room, shoving an uniformed officer out of the way in his haste. Gates frowned at that. The man was behaving more like he had a vendetta than a police officer carrying out his duties. McCord and Hendricks lingered behind, as if they already knew the outcome. Gates was only beginning to ponder that when Donovan reached the break room door and practically ripped it open.

Detective Beckett was gone, as were Detectives Ryan and Esposito. Only Richard Castle remained, sitting at the table, casually drinking a cup of coffee, grimacing as he swallowed the vile brew. Gates never drank the stuff herself. She always picked up a Chai Latte from the café down the street before coming in.

"Where's Detective Beckett?" Donovan demanded, glaring down at the unaffected intelligence operative.

Castle made a show of craning his neck as he looked around the empty break room. He then turned back, and offered a wiry smile. "I have no idea," he attested, blinking his eyes all innocently.

Donovan gritted his teeth, turned and kicked the door, making it bounce back against the wall, before stalking out into the bullpen where Gates and McCord were still waiting.

"Lock down the precinct," he commanded, jabbing a finger at Gates. "Make sure she does not leave this building!"

She hesitated for a moment, before signaling Detective Karpowski and issuing the orders. Gates had a feeling it wouldn't matter. _Good girl_, she thought, mildly proud. Detective Beckett was long gone.

XXX

She hurried down the sidewalk, moving her legs as quickly as possible without breaking into an all-out run. Weaving through fellow pedestrians, Beckett worked at controlling her breathing. She couldn't afford to have a panic attack right now, even if it felt like the walls were closing in around her. She'd left Castle with a quick hug and kiss, trusting him to handle himself. The boys got her out of the precinct with hushed words of support and encouragement, and then she was on her own.

Hopefully Castle would be able to use his CIA fabricated FBI credentials to keep himself on the inside, be her eyes and ears, but if not, she knew they could rely on Ryan and Esposito. They were loyal friends, and knew enough of what was going on to know she was being framed. It was a good bet that was what would happen. Captain Donovan wouldn't trust Castle, because of his relationship with her, and Gates wouldn't be able to object if the Internal Affairs captain kicked Castle out. And they'd get no help from the FBI. McCord didn't particularly like Castle, for whatever reason, so she'd probably agree with Donovan.

Beckett could only hope that she'd made enough of a good impression on the Justice Department agent to garner her the benefit of the doubt. She hated having to rely on wishes and prayers, and the goodwill of others, but that's all she had right now.

Pumping her legs, Beckett turned right and hiked up the street, glancing around with well-trained eyes, searching for anyone who might be following her. She spotted a patrol car driving up the street, and immediately ducked into an alley, hunching up against the side of the building until the blue and red lights passed by. Hiding for her own people. It wasn't an experience she'd ever expected to have. With a few exceptions during her youth, Kate Beckett had always been on the right side of the law.

But now she was being framed for a crime she did not commit, yet one she had both ample means and motive. She knew it looked bad. Very bad. Which was why she opted to run instead of stay. Once Internal Affairs took her into custody that would be it. She'd be done for. Bracken or Kilmer, whomever was orchestrating this charade, would ensure that would be the last opportunity she'd have to talk. If she was taken in, she'd be dead before nightfall. Of that, she had no doubts.

Beckett strolled over to a trash can, and wrinkled her nose in disgust as she glanced at the pile of refuse accumulating around the cylinder. Taking her iPhone out, she hesitated for a brief second, before shutting it off and dumping it in the bin. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she hurried off, without a backwards glance.

XXX

"I'm telling you, I don't know where she went," Castle asserted for what felt like the millionth time. He flicked his gaze around the room, as Captain Marcus Donovan of Internal Affairs stalked around him. Gates and McCord stood beside each other, the former looking helpless, while the other held a calculated, curious expression.

"You were just in the break room with Detective Beckett," Donovan stated, and Castle nodded, knowing it would be foolish to lie about something they already knew was fact. "What did she say to you before she fled?"

Castle straightened his back and stared Donovan in the eye. "That she didn't kill Vulcan Simmons."

"Agent Castle, do you understand this woman is now the target of a manhunt?" Donovan questioned, not hiding his aggressive posturing. He thought he was being intimidating, but Castle had gone up against far worse than this man. "That she's most likely a murderer."

Castle held up his hands. "I can't help you."

The room filled with an air of tension that was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Everyone remained silent as Castle and Donovan stared off, each unwilling to blink.

Donovan huffed and turned towards Gates. "I want him gone," he raged. "He has no business in this precinct. Not while we're conducting this investigation."

Castle shifted his gaze to Gates, who sighed in resignation. "I'm afraid he's right, Agent Castle. You're going to have to go."

"Agent McCord?" Castle inquired, hoping for an ally.

"I concur with the captains," McCord announced, though with the tiniest hint of apology, which surprised him. "You're too close to this. You can't be trusted to remain impartial."

He grunted, flicking his stare back to Donovan before returning his attention to Agent McCord, ignoring the other two in the room. "You know she didn't do this, Rachel," Castle said, not yet begging, but close to it. "She's being set up."

McCord folded her arms over her chest. "That may be, Agent Castle," she replied. "But right now, that is not what the evidence says. I like Detective Beckett. She'd make a fine agent. However, running does not help her case. So, if you're not going to tell us what you know, then… I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave. Now."

Donovan glared at Castle. "I want him escorted out of the building."

"That can be arranged," McCord said before Gates could speak. The Twelfth Precinct's commanding officer looked peeved at being overruled, but remained silent. McCord raised a hand and signaled through the glass window of the interview room. The door opened and Hendricks appeared.

"Yes?"

"Would you please escort Agent Castle out of the building?" McCord asked.

Hendricks nodded and glanced towards Castle with an expectant look, gesturing back out towards the bullpen. "Agent Castle, will you come with me?"

Grumbling under his breath, Castle shot one last glare at Captain Donovan, before spinning on his heels and following Agent Hendricks out of the room. As they walked through the bullpen everyone stopped what they were doing, curious eyes following them. Hendricks led the way towards the elevator, but just before they made the turn they were intercepted by Ryan and Esposito.

"Yo, can we have a minute with him?" Esposito asked.

Hendricks hesitated for moment, arching his neck to glance back at his partner, who was in a heated argument with Captain Donovan. "Yeah, sure," he relented. "Just make it fast."

Ryan gestured towards Castle and he immediately followed Beckett's colleagues as they marched down the hallway, out of eyesight of the interview room.

"What's this all about, Castle?" Ryan asked.

"Guys, she wouldn't want you involved," Castle said, hedging his bets. He and Kate hadn't had much time to really discuss everything involved in their investigation. Most of their time together had been spent reconnecting and making love. He didn't know how much she'd told her colleagues, if anything at all.

"We're already involved," Esposito insisted, narrowing his eyes at Castle. "We're family, bro."

When Castle pursed his lips, Ryan shook his head. "We're not stupid. We know this is bigger than Vulcan Simmons."

Frowning, Castle made his choice. "Okay, you're right. It is."

"This ties into that Maddox dude, too, right?" Esposito prodded.

"Ray Kilmer? A little, yes," Castle admitted, not entirely willing to divulge too much without speaking with Kate first. He knew she trusted these two, but he didn't know if she'd be willing to put them in danger.

"I knew it," Esposito jerked his head forward, punching his partner in the shoulder. Ryan winced, and rubbed the abused spot.

"What's going on?" the younger man asked, looking at Castle with eager eyes, willing to help.

Hunching his shoulders, Castle signaled them to follow, and they moved down the hallway until they were standing by the men's room. Nudging the door, Castle peeked inside to see if anyone was in there, before slipping back out and shifting back to join Ryan and Esposito.

"You remember Smith?" he asked.

"Captain Montgomery's friend, right?" Esposito said, nodding his head. "The one who kept Beckett safe by holding those files on Bracken?"

Ryan cocked his head and squinted. "Until they got blown to high heavens," he added, alluding to the events of last May.

"Yeah, well, Bracken didn't know that," Castle said, turning to meet Esposito's eyes as the man made the connections to the argument Castle and Kate had been having in the break room.

"Shit, that's the deal you made with Bracken, the same as Smith," Esposito jabbed the air with a finger. "But you didn't have the files. They'd blown up. You were bluffing."

Castle offered a tentative nod, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. "And doing a good job at it until Beckett went undercover in Vulcan Simmons's drug ring and Bracken was given an opportunity to make us even."

Esposito let out a string of curses in Spanish. "This ain't good, bro."

"No, it's not," Castle agreed.

"So, what are we thinking? That Bracken arranged for Beckett to be framed for Vulcan Simmons's murder?" Ryan questioned, with a furrowed brow and large eyes.

Castle inclined his head. "That's the best theory. Kilmer's probably the one that handled it, too. He's got it in for both of us, and he'd see it as a way to get even with us while making some extra cash on the side."

Esposito shook his head. "But why kill Vulcan?"

Yeah, he'd been thinking about that too. It hadn't made sense until he saw that news report last night when he arrived back to the Gramercy Park apartment after his dinner with his Mother and Alexis.

"Maybe Vulcan's drug money was funding Bracken's campaign," Castle offered.

Ryan bobbed his head. "Yeah, yeah. All that money bouncing around all those offshore accounts and eventually landing in that Super PAC, Future Forward."

Castle snapped his fingers and tapped his nose. "Exactly," he said, then hesitated, unsure whether to reveal this next part of it. He'd got in trouble with his superiors for divulging classified information to unauthorized individuals, but Kate was in trouble, so he was willing to risk disciplinary actions with the Agency if it came to that. "It goes beyond the dirty money funneled into Bracken's political campaign. Hell, it's even bigger than Bracken. There's a larger game going on in the background, with powerful players. And this whole case with Vulcan Simmons was a link to that."

"Is that what those Feds are interested in?" Esposito asked, referring to McCord and Hendricks.

"For the most part, yes," Castle inclined his head. "It was thought best to allow the Justice Department and FBI to handle that angle. The CIA was handling the rest. Kilmer's also part of it, and after he assassinated the Vice President, the scope of our inquiry was enlarged to include this shadow organization."

"This organization," Esposito narrowed his eyes and flashed some teeth, "it got a name?"

Castle stared at the other man for a long beat. They'd had some friction in the past. And he knew Esposito didn't really like him that much. He was protective of Beckett, like a big brother—maybe even more. Castle had seen the man looked at Beckett on occasion. It didn't happen often, but every once and a while Castle had noticed it. He wondered if Beckett had as well? Whatever feelings the detective had for Castle's girlfriend, he kept them locked down tight and apparently had never acted on them. He seemed willing to accept Castle, though, as long as he made Beckett happy.

"The Consortium," he spoke barely above a whisper. He flicked his finger between the two detectives. "But you didn't hear that from me."

Esposito pursed his lips and offered a nod, while Ryan mimed zipping his lips shut.

"Between the cops, the Feds, and Kilmer, Beckett's right in the crosshairs," the former stated with a grim expression.

"Is there anything we can do?" Ryan questioned, always eager to help.

Castle placed a hand on each detective's shoulder and offered them both a grateful smile. "Keep your eyes and ears open," he advised. "I've been kicked out of the precinct, so we need you guys to keep watch on those Internal Affairs goons."

"Can do," Esposito nodded.

Castle squeezed their shoulders and bowed his head. Pulling back, he glanced over his shoulder. "I'll contact you when I can." And then he moved back down the hallway towards the elevator bank, where Hendricks was waiting to escort him out of the building.

XXX

Danberg walked up to the glass door and pressed his hand against the scanner on the pillar beside it. He pursed his lips and counted off the seconds before the system buzzed and he heard the thunk of the locks unbolting. Reaching for the handle, he opened the door and stepped into the operations center. There was a low hum of activity, as there always was. The place was never silent. The operations center ran 24/7. He flicked his gaze up at the large bank of flat screens along the forward wall, seeing business as usual. CCTV footage, surveillance video, and satellite feeds ran across the screens.

Walking over to the coffee machine, Danberg poured himself a cup. As he stirred in the sugar pack, he walked up the aisle to the command station, where several sets of computer terminals sat overlooking the array of monitors mounted on the wall. The central screen, which was the largest, displayed a satellite map of New York City, the default image when there wasn't an operation running.

"You guys find something?" Danberg asked, pausing to take a sip of his coffee, and pursing his lips as he swallowed. It wasn't exactly the best, but it was better than that monkey crap he'd been forced to drink when he'd been at the Twelfth Precinct.

Vikram Singh nodded his head, frantically gesturing him over. "We've got a problem."

"What kind?" Danberg questioned, dreading the answer.

"It's Detective Beckett."

"What about her?" Danberg furrowed his brow as he hunched over to stare over Vikram's shoulder.

"The NYPD just put out an APB on her," he said.

"What!?" gasping, Danberg shook his head in dismay. "That can't be right."

"It popped up thirty minutes ago," Riley announced from his station.

Leaning back, Danberg pointed at the central screen. "Put it up. Let me see."

Riley punched some buttons on his keyboard and the satellite image of New York City flickered out, replaced by the digital form of the all-points bulletin with Detective Kate Beckett's official NYPD I.D. photo attached to the notice at the top. Narrowing his eyes, Danberg read through the details.

"She's wanted in connection with the murder of Vulcan Simmons," he summarized. "That doesn't make sense."

"That's why we called you," Riley said.

"Do you think Castle knows?" Vikram asked. The young tech had worked closely with the agent during an operation in London, and had come back to the States with him, defying orders from their superiors. Danberg could tell that Castle had already left an impact on the man. No surprise there.

"No doubt," he said. "He's probably in the thick of it." Turning to Riley, he signaled and the central screen flashed back to the default satellite image. "Contact Director York, update him on this development."

"Sir," Riley bobbed his head. "And what are you going to do?"

Danberg was already pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm gonna call Castle and find out what the hell is happening."

XXX

The encrypted text from the Swan was late. He sat, fuming, feeling trapped in the pressurized fuselage of the rear passenger cabin of the Gulfstream jet. Kilmer glared down at his phone, before letting out a growl and tucking it away into his pocket with a curse.

"Lying bitch," he hissed, and heaved himself up out of the seat.

Kilmer stalked forward, passing Piotr and his prisoner. Huxley remained gagged and bounded to the window seat. He had ceased struggling once Kilmer boarded the plane, and now remained docile, like a good boy. The big driver was sitting in the aisle seat, essentially to keep Huxley trapped, and was reading from some Russian version of a gossip magazine. No. He was mistaken. As he walked by, Kilmer realized it was just some skeevy nudie mag. He pursed his lips and went on. He didn't care what his men read for entertainment. Kilmer didn't need anything to entertain him. His focus was always on the mission.

He walked up to the opened cockpit door and stared in. The pilots glanced back nervously.

"Sir?"

"Where are we now?" he asked.

"Passing over—"

But before the navigator could finish, Kilmer's phone finally buzzed. He whipped it out of his pocket and stared down at the screen. The Swan had finally come through with a location. He growled. Bitch.

"Turn around," he instructed. "We're going back."

"Huh?"

"I said turn around," Kilmer said, voice calm but deadly, glaring daggers at the man. He hated having to repeat himself.

"What's going on, boss?" Piotr asked as Kilmer retreated back into the passenger cabin.

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Kilmer scolded. "Go back to your titty mag."

"Yessir, boss," the big man grinned stupidly and did just that, lowering his eyes back to milk in the image of a glossy photo of a naked blonde with obviously fake breasts.

Ignoring the oaf, Kilmer shifted, craning his neck to glare hard at Huxley. The CIA officer swallowed and went visibly pale, before breaking eye contact and staring out the window. Heading back to his seat in the rear of the plane, Kilmer took out his phone and sent a text to Rajko Kápa, requesting an update, as well as informing him of their return. It infuriated him to no end that the Board had waited until his plane was in the air to then send him a location that was back in New York for their meeting. He hated being played with. It was demeaning, displaying a lack of respect.

Smug bastards didn't know what they had coming to them if they thought they could disrespect him like that.

His phone buzzed with a return text from Rajko. Kilmer squinted and pursed his lips in thought as he read the message. So far Lazarus's scheme was working. The NYPD's Internal Affairs division had played right into their hands. Kilmer sent a quick response back, finding it odd that he missed the man. He had never worked well with others, but he had come to rely on Rajko. It helped, having a right-hand man who he could speak with. Rajko was the only other person who knew Kilmer's full plans. He was the only one he'd trusted with the details.

Sighing, Kilmer leaned back into the seat and stared out the oval shaped window as the plane banked left, preparing to maneuver around and reverse course. His lips curled up ever so slightly as his angry thoughts latched onto one of the high notes in Rajko's text. The bitch cop was now a wanted woman. Good. At least something was going right.


	25. Chapter 24

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 24**_

* * *

It was an oddly pleasant day, all things considered. The sun was out, but there was a gentle breeze, making for an agreeable mix. Underneath the shade of the trees, he found himself comfortable. Castle sat alone on the bench along the jogging path, seemingly staring off into space, thinking, but was in fact watching everything and everyone around him.

A pair of women, late-twenties, giggled as they sauntered by, dressed in clearance item fashion dresses. They weren't wearing high-heels, but wore more sensible shoes, still stylish, yet better suited for when one stood around for long hours. The lanyards that bounced around their neck were the final piece that put the puzzle together that was already complete. They were saleswomen from a low-end boutique on their lunch break, cutting through the park to eat at one of the bistro cafés located on the opposite end.

His eyes flicked right, catching a man standing off in the distance, gazing out across the green, talking on a phone. He tracked him for a long beat, until the man disconnected the call, pocketed his phone and went on his way. Castle watched an older man stroll around the low hill, newspaper tucked under his arm. He kept fiddling with his ear. Narrowing his gaze, Castle saw a hearing aid. He kept his eye on the older gentlemen, but lost him when he disappeared on the other side of the hill.

To his right, a young mother struggled with getting her exuberant infant boy back into a stroller. After a mighty battle between parent and child, she eventually won, though the child wailed indignantly at being restrained. She quickly pushed the stroller away, leaving the vicinity.

A man in a brown jacket and a matching ballcap was standing off in the distance, a camera in his hands. At first glance, it appeared the man was looking straight at him. He raised the camera, and ballcap man took a few shots. Castle narrowed his eyes, suspicious. But then he caught sight of a bird fluttering by, and the man followed it with the camera, taking more photos until the bird had flown away. The man lowered his camera and walked off, disappearing behind a copse of trees.

His training allowed him to pick up on things, observing behaviors and mannerisms that would give away a surveillance team. So far, he hadn't seen anything too suspicious, but considering who they were up against, Castle had to admit that a healthy dose of paranoia wasn't a bad thing.

On the other side of the grassy knoll, sitting atop of a checkered blanket, was a couple, college age, enjoying one another's company, unashamed of the very public display of affection their face sucking was creating. The guy shifted his hand down her shoulder, trying to cop a feel, and the young woman jerked back and slapped his hand away, shaking her head as she glanced around, her cheeks flushed with mild embarrassment. Before resuming their make out session, she gave him a firm reprimand.

Castle chuckled to himself, remembering those idle days of youth, when he was still blissfully ignorant of the evils in the world, simply trying to get to second base with Kyra Blaine on their third date. His reminiscent smile grew as he recalled achieving a three hit homerun that night instead. Lucky him. Though, he'd almost always been lucky when it came to women.

Mostly.

They'd been inseparable since that night. Always hanging out with one another, sickening their mutual friends with their constant PDAs. Everything had been like a dream. He'd lost himself in the wondrous haze of youthful romance. Until graduation, when she suddenly broke up with him and left for London. She had probably wanted him to chase after her, but being the ignorant fool he was at that age, he hadn't. And it was then, during that time of youthful heartbreak, Castle had met Samson York, and soon found himself recruited into the CIA.

Thinking back on it, Castle decided he had no regrets. Yes. He had probably been in love with Kyra, but it had been a youthful kind of love. It paled in comparison to the love he had for Kate Beckett. He'd always been a romantic at heart, but he hadn't really believed that kind of love, an all-consuming, ever-present kind of love could be his, at least not until he met the badass detective with the runway model looks and the sad eyes. It thrilled him beyond belief that he was the one that made her light up with happiness, easing that lingering grief from her eyes. And the fact she genuinely reciprocated his feelings, opening herself up and sharing her life with him, meant more to him than he could express with words. It was a feeling he'd never give up. Ever.

So, no. He had no regrets. Everything, both good and bad, that had ever happened to him, led him to her. And that wasn't something he'd ever change.

His good ear twitched, and Castle stiffened.

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. From the periphery of his vision he had caught sight of a figure emerge, slow and steady, from behind a brush, moving off the path, on the grass, to his left. He kept his gaze pointing forward, seemingly staring out at the grassy knoll ahead, all the while his attention was lasered in on the lurking individual, a large hood obscuring their features.

Despite the oversized hooded sweatshirt, Castle could detect a slight build, possibly female. Her legs were long and lean, but powerful. She had training. She was a professional. Elena Markov? Slowly, as not to alert the intruder, he slipped a hand inside his jacket and gripped the handle of his SIG Sauer.

She was almost upon him.

In a flash, he shot up off the bench, spinning around, ready to draw his weapon, when he stopped, eyes going wide as he recognized the face staring back at him.

"Kate," he breathed, part relief, part confusion. He released his tight grip on his pistol, quickly swallowing her up in a fierce hug. She came willingly, arms twining around his torso, head resting on his shoulder. He sighed. She was safe. "Hey. You okay?"

When they pulled apart, Beckett nodded, and he almost grinned. She looked so small in that hooded sweatshirt. She was drowning in the gray fabric. But he supposed it helped to conceal her.

"Yeah," she murmured, her eyes darting everywhere, just as paranoid as him.

Castle stepped back, swiveling his head around to make sure no one was watching. Seeing nothing suspicious, he reached inside his jacket and produced a Beretta M9, stealthily passing it over to her. Beckett took it, a pleased look swept across her beautiful face as she gripped the handle, welcoming the familiar weight, before tugging her sweatshirt up and tucking it through her belt.

"Thanks," she whispered, offering a tiny smile.

He nodded. "Thought we could use some supplies. I looted a CIA stash house on the way here," he explained. "Danberg gave me the code to shut down the security, so there shouldn't be a record of my entry. Don't worry, Kate. He's a friend. He's on our side."

"I know," she replied.

After a brief silence, Castle produced a small flip phone and handed it over. "It's not the TCD-74. Newer model," he couldn't hide his displeasure enough and it made her laugh lightly, which, in turn, made him grin. "But it'll do the job. Like mine, it can't be traced. And I've already programmed my number into it."

"Thanks, Castle," she said again, staring up at him with large, expressive eyes, filled with gratitude and love. "You're really quite something, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know," he smirked, waggling his eyebrows.

She shook her head and gave his shoulder a playful punch. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he chuckled.

Beckett pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. A skateboarder zoomed by, making her jerk with a start. She flicked her head around, her shoulders hunching protectively. Castle reached out to calm her as her chest started to heave with growing panic and anxiety.

"Were you followed?" she stammered out.

He gave her a pointed look and managed to coax a brief grin from her, returning some calm to her troubled mind.

She nodded. "Okay, yeah, stupid question."

"No such thing," he declared with an earnest smile, gazing at her with undisguised adoration.

Her cheeks blossomed into an adorable shade of pink. She stared back at him with the same level and intensity. It was mesmerizing. Castle couldn't look away. Beckett bit her lower lip and averted her eyes, breaking the spell. She shook her head and released a shaky breath.

"Listen, Castle, I can't ask you to stick around anymore," she announced, clearly having given this a lot of thought. "You have too much to live for. Alexis. Your mother. They need you."

"And I need you," Castle insisted, holding up a hand to forestall her protestations. "I know the risks, Kate. Better than most. I take risks every day in my line of work. You know that. And besides, we agreed to do this together. I'm holding you to that."

Beckett stared up at him with a look of awe glistening in her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed in a handful of heartbeats as if she were at a loss for words. "I… I can't ask you to do that anymore, Castle," she shook her head. Stubborn as always. "No. It's too dangerous."

"Kate," Castle reached out, cupping her shoulders, rubbing soothing motions into her tense muscles, trying to calm her down. "Easy, baby. Take it easy."

"_Baby_?" she frowned and glared up at him.

"Better than 'sweet cheeks'?" he offered with a shrug. "Besides, you call me _babe_, what's the difference?"

"There's a difference, trust me," Beckett asserted with an air of confidence that had him doubting his convictions.

Still, he wasn't entirely ready to throw in the towel. He angled his head slightly, and offered her an exaggerated pout. "You sure about that?"

She just continued to scowl up at him. God, she was adorable. He grinned, dipping his head down to steal a quick kiss, whipping out her frown.

"I'm already in this, Kate," he continued, knitting his eyebrows together in a serious manner. "Bracken called _my_ bluff. He knows we don't have this huge file of evidence against him."

"Because if you did, I wouldn't have had to go after Vulcan Simmons to bring him down," Beckett interjected, gritting her teeth and chastising herself. "We were being watched. Weren't we? He knew I went to see Vulcan Simmons last night. Knew why. Fuck. Castle, I'm sorry. I overplayed our hand. There's nothing to stop him from killing me anymore."  
She was starting to panic. Castle reached up and cupped her cheek, cradling her jaw in his palm as he forced her to look at him.

"You're not alone, Kate," he asserted, insistent. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Beckett shook her head. "I can't ask you to use your resources to help, Castle, I can't," she insisted. "I know what your superiors think of me, that I compromise you. And it's true."

"No," Castle all but growled, angry at such a notion. He clenched his jaw, and smoothed his hand down her arm. "Our relationship is not a weakness, Kate. It gives me focus, a sense of purpose."

"Babe," she sighed, shaking her head, looking up at him with watery eyes, yet smiling adoringly. "You're deluding yourself. You shouldn't even be here, right?"

He stepped back and pursed his lips, remaining silent.

"You were overseas, on assignment, and you broke protocol to come here to New York… to be with me," she reached up with both hands and soothed him with a gentle caress down his chest. "And I love that you came. I do. But I also know what it means for your job. And you love your job."

"I love you more," he declared, never feeling more right about anything.

"Castle… No."

"I do," he insisted, grabbing her hands and holding them to his chest, willing her to feel his heartbeat. "I don't care what they do to me. I can't lose you, Kate. I can't. I was okay before you—without you. I was doing just fine. I thought that was enough. And it was. For a time. But then I met you. And everything changed. I can't go back to before, now knowing what it's like to be with you, to have you in my life. So don't ask me. All right? Don't ask that of me."

She swallowed her protests, staring up at him, stunned. But she inclined her head and agreed. "Okay. I won't."

"Good," he bent down and sealed it with a kiss, lingering a little longer this time, coaxing a low moan from her throat before pulling back, satisfied that the debate was finished.

Beckett released a shaky breath and he noticed her hands were still trembling. He ushered her to take a seat and she did. He pulled her hands into his lap and waited her out.

"This whole thing with Vulcan," she said, "it kills two birds with one stone."

Castle nodded, having surmised that much. "He's cleaning house. He needs to with the general election coming up."

"Bracken's making his move," Beckett concurred. "And I have to make mine."

He narrowed his eyes.

"_We_," she corrected quickly. "_We_ have to make out move." She licked her lips, her nose wrinkling as she thought. "He's in New York. The news report last night, it was about a campaign rally."

"So… what's your plan?" Castle asked, confused. "You wanna take a run at him with nothing?"

"What's the other option here?" she hissed out, a little desperate, and a lot afraid. He had never seen her so afraid. "Hide in the shadows and wait for them to arrest me? That won't work, Castle. Two days later, I'll end up hanging in my cell." She rolled her eyes at the grim fate. "Rogue cop commits suicide. That's how they'd play it."

Castle glowered, not liking her dark humor. She offered a shrug of her shoulders. Sighing, he carded his fingers through his hair when a sudden thought occurred to him and he held up a hand. "Maybe there's another way."

"Yeah?" Beckett cocked her as she stared up expectantly, eager. "I'm listening."

XXX

He took a sip of coffee and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Agent Martin Danberg felt so useless. He had wanted to do more for his friend, but his hands were tied. Giving Castle secure access to a safe house had been the easiest option. But he wanted to do more.

Reports kept coming in from their tap within the NYPD. Internal Affairs was fixated on Detective Beckett, to the point where they were ignoring other evidence, whether deliberately or not was up for debate. He was suspicious of this Captain Marcus Donovan. He'd tasked Riley with running a background check, going deep, not just a cursory one that their friends at the FBI would do. He knew Agent McCord had run her own background check. It was what she did whenever working with someone.

"Anything?" Danberg asked, stepping up behind Riley's station.

"Nothing to out of the ordinary," Riley stated, "However, there are some irregularities I want to dig a little deeper on, but I'll need authorization."

"You have it," Danberg said. "Dig."

"Will do," Riley grinned.

Danberg patted the younger man on the shoulder and moved over to where Vikram Singh was working on confirming the information Colin Hunt had spilled to Susan Ortiz during her interviews with him. They'd learned the man's real name was Simon Brunt, and that he had once been an agent for the SIS, also known as MI6. Danberg tried hard to remain objective, knowing his connection with one of his victims made him impartial. It was why he'd agreed to let Susan Ortiz take point on the interrogations.

"What have you found, Vikram?" he asked the analyst.

"Simon Brunt was an agent with MI6—hey, do you think they really have a double-O unit, or is all that James Bond stuff made up?"

Danberg just stared blankly at him.

"Right," Vikram flashed a contrite smile, and went on. "The I.D. photo matches up well with him. I'm surprised you didn't get a hit on it earlier."

"MI6 must have been holding back," Danberg concluded, now suspecting the British intelligence agency had known the identity of Ana Cavendish's murderer all along but had remained silent and done nothing.

Sir Rhys Pearce probably had something to do with that. The deceased Foreign Secretary had close friendships with some key officials within the organization. The CIA was already discretely looking into those individuals. Jackson Hunt was supervising those checks back in the Bunker.

He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't muster the needed outrage. Ever since they'd uncovered Colin Hunt as a hired infiltrator, all he'd felt was sad. He hadn't been able to properly mourn Ana before, but now that her killer was in custody—his custody—he seemed to have the sense of closure he'd previously lacked.

"Anything else?" Danberg asked.

Vikram nodded. "From what I've gathered, he left the service in 2007. That's when all records of him ceased. There's really nothing else since then."

"Then focus on his past," Danberg suggested. "We know some of the Consortium's patterns. Just like any other organization, they have to recruit new assets. See if you can find something—anything—that might give us an indication as to when that happened with him, because so far, he's not spilling the beans on that."

As Vikram got to work, Danberg felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the number. Glancing around, he stepped over towards the coffee station, and answered.

"Castle, are you okay? Did you find Beckett?" he asked.

"_Yes, to both questions_," came his friend's voice.

"Good," Danberg said. "You should get out of town for a few days. I already have Riley looking into this Captain Donovan. The way he's running the investigation makes it look like he has a vendetta against Beckett."

"_Thanks, we appreciate that_," Castle said. Danberg heard him take a deep breath on the other end, and he sensed his friend was hesitating.

"Castle, what is it?" Danberg prodded.

"_Look, Martin_," Castle said, tentative. "_I've got a favor to ask. And it's a pretty big ask_."

Danberg pursed his lips, knowing that he might need to cross some lines and bend some rules he had never felt comfortable with doing before. But this situation was unlike anything they'd faced before. He could feel the pull of the Consortium in the events unfolding. He swallowed hard and nodded, before remembering his friend couldn't see him.

"I'm with you, Rick," Danberg asserted. "Ask away."

XXX

He waited as the pilots finished taxing the Gulfstream to a stop on the tarmac before pressing the buttons to engaged the stair ramp. A buzz signaled the start of the mechanism, and the hatch hissed opened and lowered to the ground. Gripping the railing, Kilmer stepped down, outwardly showing no sign of his outrage and offense. He did not like the games being played by the Consortium in arranging their meeting. Time was a precious commodity, and they'd wasted it playing at a pathetic attempt to demonstrate their power and authority. As if such a display would humble him.

_Fools_.

A sneer manifested itself on his lips. They had no idea what was coming at them. None at all. He turned back and snapped his fingers at Piotr. "Bring Huxley," he snarled.

The big man gave a quick nod and hauled himself back up the narrow steps, returning into the passenger cabin. While his man retrieved the captured CIA officer, Kilmer strolled towards the awaiting black Escalade. He reached inside his jacket and retrieved his phone.

"Report," he said the moment the call was answered on the other end.

"_He's meeting with some backers right now_," Rajko Kápa imparted. "_He has Sergio and Dekker on recon. But we have a tap into the NYPD, so if they locate her, we'll know and be their first_."

"Is Castle with her?" Kilmer asked, narrowing his eyes.

"_Not confirmed yet, but we suspect, yes_," Rajko said. "_Lazarus doesn't like it. With Castle in the picture, he's not satisfied with a frame job on the cop. He wants her dead. Paranoid motherfucker_."

"Not surprising," Kilmer commented with a snarl, thinking how the bitch cop had alluded him in his three attempts to end her life. "She's a tough bitch. Refuses to die."

"_He wants to talk to her first, don't know why, but if we go for the kill option, that was his request_," Rajko asserted, sounding uncertain. "_What are your orders?_"

Kilmer mulled over it for a long beat. He wanted Castle and his lady detective to suffer before death, but they'd escape his schemes far too many times for his liking. "If the opportunity arises, kill the bitch," he decided. "But only if Castle's not there. I want him to suffer a bit before I end him. He must see that he could not protect the woman he loved. Understand?"

"_Yes, I think I do, sir, yes_," Rajko replied. "_And Lazarus's request?_"

Kilmer sighed. "It makes no difference," he said. "If he wants to talk to her before the kill, so be it. Anything else?"

"_Lazarus is displeased that the Board granted you an audience_," Rajko informed.

He suppressed a laugh. "He's learning just how insignificant he truly is to the grand scheme," Kilmer commented. "Soon, they all will."

"_I do not like it,_" Rajko announced. "_I should be with you. As is my place_."

He admired the man's loyalty. He usually didn't work well with others. Rajko Kápa was proving to be the exception to that rule. "I'll manage fine on my own," Kilmer assured. "I always have before."

"_Without question_," there was a brief pause, "_The plan still a go?_"

"It is, yes," Kilmer confirmed, narrowing his eyes. He checked his watch. "If all goes according to plan, the goal shall be achieved within a few hours. Stop your worrying, Rajko. Focus on your task with Lazarus. And call me the minute the bitch is dead."

"_Yes, sir. I will_."

"Good," Kilmer hung up without another word, knowing there was nothing else left to say. Turning, he saw Piotr return with Huxley. He pointed to the Escalade. "In the backseat."

"Sir," Piotr bobbed his head, grabbing the CIA officer by the scruff of his neck with his meaty paw and dragged him over to the SUV, shoving him into the backseat.

Kilmer watched, a thin smile touching his lips. The end was nigh. All his months of meticulous planning, negotiating, and scheming were coming to a head. It was a sight to behold.

XXX

"This way," Castle grabbed her hand and rushed across the street.

Beckett followed, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as he tugged her along. Her paranoia was starting to get the best of her. She didn't like it. Turning back, she released a breath as Castle directed them down an alleyway and into the side entrance of an underground parking garage a block over from the New York Federal building.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Beckett hissed as they hurried down the stairs to the bottom floor.

"Not really, no," Castle answered with a roll of his shoulders. "But we've come this far."

She chewed on her bottom lip. It was risky coming downtown when there was a city-wide manhunt for her. Beckett had needed to keep the hood up, which thanks to the sudden turn in the weather didn't call attention to them. But she was rattled. Her heart skipped at a rapid staccato beat as the walls started to close in around her, filling her with dread and panic. It had only gotten worse when they walked past the front window display of an electronic store and all the TV screens were filled with the local news telecast from Channel 7 and a breaking news alert, showing her face, with the caption: FUGITIVE COP.

"My picture shouldn't be on the news," she said as they rounded the corner onto the final landing. "Not for this. Not this fast."

Castle grunted in acknowledgment. "Bracken. He's using his influence to put on the squeeze."

"Yeah," she said, pulling the hood down and brushing a hand through her long hair. "Which is why this is a bad idea. We should just get the hell out of here." All this cloak and dagger stuff made her uncomfortable. She was used to operating out in the open, but she knew that right now that wasn't an option, which was why she'd initially agreed with his suggestion. But she was now having second thoughts. Beckett just couldn't stop from worrying. All of this was happening because of her. It was her mess. And Castle didn't deserve to be caught up in it.

She didn't want to see anything bad happen to him. She wouldn't survive that. It went contrary to her nature, but Beckett actually felt it was wiser to run, regroup somewhere safe, before coming back at it with a better hand.

But her boyfriend was being stubborn, an annoying trait they both shared.

"We can trust Danberg," Castle dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand.

"I know that," she sighed, grabbing his arm to stop him from opening the stairwell door. "But, Castle, you need to think about this more. Danberg's your friend, but he's only one man. You can't be sure others within the CIA aren't part of this Consortium thing."

Castle scrubbed a hand down his face and nodded. "You're right. We can't," he relented. "However, we don't have many options here." His eyes grew dark. "The noose is tightening, and I won't allow them to snare you with it. Not while I'm still standing."

A chirp came from his pocket, and he held up a hand to halt the debate. He retrieved his flip phone and opened it, glancing at the text. Beckett knitted her eyebrows together as she waited for him to read it.

"It's from Danberg," Castle said. "The coast is clear."

Beckett let out another sigh and shook her head, frowning. "I still don't think this is a good idea. He might not even talk to us."

"Look, I don't like it either. But with Vulcan Simmons gone, he's the only link we have to the Consortium and Bracken," Castle reiterated his earlier arguments. He palmed her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing soft, soothing circles around her beauty mark. "You can stay here, Kate. You don't have to see him again if you don't want to. I can handle it on my own. I can make him talk. If you don't like that, you can wait here. No shame in that."

"No," she asserted, flashing him a disapproving look as she shook out of his tender caress. "We're not doing that, Castle. We're not stooping to their level."

He gritted his teeth, but relented with a nod. "Then you're coming?"

"Maybe later if we're lucky," she winked, and sidestepped around him, leaving him dumbstruck as she pushed the door open and slipped out into the underground parking lot, a smirk touching her lips. There weren't many times Beckett was the one making the double entendres and innuendoes first, but she relished the opportunity to silence Castle with whiplash from the sudden shift in her demeanor.

He joined her soon, casting a pointed look her way that served as a warning that she'd pay for getting the upper hand on him like that.

"I'm so going to punish you for that," he insisted with a mischievous smirk.

Beckett flashed him a saucy look, and tossed back with a husky voice, "Naked punishing?"

He growled, low and feral, indicating that the answer was most definitely yes.

She stifled a smile. Strange, she thought, as she slowed to allow her boyfriend to resume the lead, that a taunting promise of hypothetical future sex with Castle made her more relaxed. It was almost as if making that jest made the potential for it more real. It was odd, and not altogether rational, but there it was. Whatever the reason, it calmed her nerves, so she'd take it.

"This way," Castle said, already recovered and back on mission. "There's a secured underground tunnel that connects the Federal Building to this level. We—the CIA, that is—use it often when we don't want to be seen. Though, this is a first, I believe, that we've needed to use it to transport a high value detainee out of the building unnoticed." He paused for a quick breath after his rapid fire explanation. "Danberg said he could get us some time with him, unobserved, but it couldn't be for long."

"He really has that sort of pull?" Beckett asked, skeptical, considering the favor they were asking.

Castle glanced over at her with a bemused expression. "He plays by the rules more often than not, unlike yours truly, so upper management trusts him more. He told me York was giving him a wide latitude in how he chooses to 'deal' with me. Plus, Danberg is the senior CIA officer in New York, so, yeah, he's got some pull."

"I still don't like it," she announced with a sour expression.

"I know," he answered soberly, stopping to smooth a reassuring hand up and down her arm. "It'll be fine, Kate. Don't worry."

This level of the underground parking garage was mostly empty. Their footsteps echoed off the concrete walls, and Beckett tried not to let the ominous atmosphere get to her. She hunched further into the large sweater, subconsciously trying to disappear. Tucked into a corner of the lot, Beckett spotted an nondescript white paneled van. Castle jerked his chin towards it. As they approached, she froze when several men suddenly appeared around, each one of them armed with a small automatic weapon. Castle saw her reaction, and he held up a hand, running it soothingly down her back as he guided her foreword.

"It's okay," he assured. "It's okay. They're on our side."

Danberg appeared from around the van and signaled to the men. They lowered their weapons and moved off to the side, allowing Castle and Beckett through.

"Good to see you," Danberg greeted.

"You too," Castle said. "Thanks for this."

"Least I could do," he shifted, hiking up his pants in a nervous habit. "You don't have much time. I'm anxious to get him out of the city."

"Then we won't waste it," Castle asserted.

Danberg nodded and stepped back. "He's all yours." He gestured to his men. Two moved over and opened the back doors of the van, revealing the sole occupant inside: Colin Hunt.


	26. Chapter 25

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 25**_

* * *

She watched from the far side of the conference room as Captain Donovan of Internal Affairs issued orders, his manner both vitriol and vindictive. He was on a mission, locked in with tunnel vision. She'd seen it before, many times, back when he was just a lieutenant under her command. He'd always been headstrong, and a tad bit unyielding, once he made up his mind on something. She had tried to train him to look at the bigger picture, at all the evidence, and for the most part, he had learned, which was why she'd recommended him to succeed her as the head of IAB once she'd transferred to the command post here at the Twelfth Precinct after Captain Roy Montgomery's passing. She had believed she was leaving her old division in good hands.

But he'd changed.

Captain Victoria Gates was starting to question Donovan's objectivity. He was hellbent on the idea that Beckett was guilty. Yes, the evidence was compelling, especially the bullet. But that was the odd sock, a phrase she'd learned from her top detective. The killer had been clean and precise, removing almost all the trace evidence at the scene.

The kill wasn't sloppy. It was exact. Professional. A hit.

Even without her years of experience in the field, Gates could see that. McCord, she suspected, saw it too. But the other woman played things close to the vest, and Gates couldn't tell which way the FBI agent leaned when it came towards Beckett's culpability. McCord didn't really know Detective Beckett that well, neither did Gates, for that matter. But in the short time in which she'd been her commanding officer, Gates believed she knew enough to know Beckett wasn't capable of cold-blooded murder.

"I need this room," Donovan announced, adjusting his blazer and planting his hands on his hips, his eyes locked on the Federal agents.

Gates watched as Agent McCord narrowed her eyes to slits as she considered. With Vulcan Simmons dead, the investigation into the drug ring was stalled. Captain Fowler had already been removed from the operation. A call from 1PP had sent him back to his own department offices with his tail firmly tucked between his legs. Yet, despite the ambivalent qualms of the NYPD brass in regards to the operation, it was obvious that the Feds were still keen on investigating in spite of the current hinderance.

"Fine by me," McCord asserted after a brief exchange with her fellow agent. "We'll just clear out of here and take over one of the informal interview rooms." She paused and glanced towards Gates. "With your approval, Captain." Gates nodded her assent.

Hendricks took charge of the two FBI techs in the room and began packing up their equipment. They were quick and efficient, and soon had the media cart and white board wheeled out of the conference room, taking up residence in the lounge on the other side of the floor. McCord remained behind, crossing her arms as she watched Donovan's people bring in a new board and start setting it up.

It was surreal, seeing Beckett's department I.D. photo tacked up on the board with the word 'suspect' scribbled underneath it. She released a long breath. It was all so wrong. She was always tough and stern, but deep down, she cared about those under her command. And it was hard not having any power to protect them. She felt helpless, and that was a feeling Victoria Gates wasn't used to. And she certainly didn't like it.

As his men worked assembling the board, Donovan strolled over to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Gates spotted McCord shift to join them.

"Where would she go?" he asked.

"Besides the obvious?" Gates tossed back, meeting his fiery gaze with the steel of her own, making sure her tone was icy, with a hint of justifiable umbrage at having been so questioned.

"Of course," he growled, aggravated. "It's unlikely she'll return to her apartment, but I've placed a man to watch it. Just in case. I'm not stupid, Victoria."

"It's Captain Gates," she spat back, angry.

His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "Fine," Donovan ground out. "Be that way, Captain. I'm only allowing you to remain as a sign of respect. But that'll change if I think you are working to impede our search for Detective Beckett."

"I'm having my team review all the evidence," McCord interjected, in a manner that told Gates she was trying to ease some of the tension in the room.

Donovan dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. "We have enough already," he said. "Once she decided to run, she sealed her fate."

Gates tried to hold her tongue, but she couldn't help herself. "Have you even reviewed the reports, Marcus?" she demanded. "Even I can tell that the crime scene was staged. It was too clean. The killer too meticulous to have left one bullet behind, one that happens to trace directly back to Detective Beckett."

He let out a harrumph and stared at her with an amused gleam in her eyes. "Really, Captain Gates," he shook his head. "Are you trying to tell me that you think she was framed?"

"It's plausible," McCord asserted with a nod. "Granted, Beckett has made some foolish decisions with Vulcan Simmons, but her record—with a few minor exceptions—is exemplary."

Donovan ignored her. "What of this boyfriend, Richard Castle? What do you know of him?" he asked. "I didn't like his attitude. He was extremely flippant and uncooperative."

"You really expected him to roll over to help you take down the woman he loves?" Gates scoffed, seriously reconsidering her past praises of the IAB Captain. "I thought I trained you better."

Donovan boiled with indignation, his face turning almost a beet red, but his retort was cut off when one of his men came over.

"Team watching the father's house just reported in, sir," one of the IAB officers announced.

"Anything?" Donovan inquired, desperate.

"Just the old man taking out the trash."

He growled, and waved the other man away.

"You put a team on Detective Beckett's father!?" Gates exclaimed, surprised at how much it nettled her.

"Obviously," he returned with a smirk. "You trained me well."

Yes, she would have done the same if their roles had been reversed, but the way in which Donovan was proceeding, ignoring discrepancies in the evidence, and the complete dismissal of any other theories, wasn't how she'd taught her successor. Granted, she knew what it was like being an IAB officer. Their job was difficult. Many of their fellow police officers didn't even consider them real cops. They were the ones who policed the police. Most considered them rats who were just out to take down good cops. Gates resented that perception, but she had a thick skin, ignored it and got the job done. Corrupt and bad cops sullied the uniform, and someone had to weed them out.

But who watched the watchers?

Gates began to have an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched Donovan almost gleefully issue orders to declare Detective Kate Beckett a fugitive and issue a press release to that effect.

It was wrong. All wrong. There was something else going on. She could sense it. And she needed to find out. But she wouldn't get answers here, not with Donovan breathing down her neck, questioning her loyalty and objectivity. Trusting Agent McCord to remain impartial, Gates ducked out of the room, intent on discovering the bigger picture behind this whole charade.

XXX

The imposter was bound with both wrists and ankle cuffs, a solid chain linking the two. He sat on a bench, leaning against the inner wall of the rear compartment of the van. Her skin crawled with revulsion as the fake Detective Inspector gazed over at her with his smarmy charm and winked.

"Detective Beckett," he crooned with a beaming smile. "Delighted to see you again."

"Shut it," she snapped, accepting Castle's hand as they climbed up into the bay to join the imprisoned Consortium agent. Castle shut the doors behind them, giving them some privacy for their talk with Hunt.

He eyed them curiously as they took a seat on the bench across from him, giving Castle a long hard look. "Is this him? The mythical boyfriend?"

"It is," Castle confirmed, keeping his face neutral, though she could tell by the way he held himself it was difficult.

Hunt let out a short laugh. "I almost didn't believe it," he said. "Richard fucking Castle. In the flesh." He inclined his head. "You're reputation precedes you. Though, I'm sad to see you've shackled yourself to this one." He jerked his head towards Beckett. "I thought she'd be a fun shag, but she's nothing but a cold fish."

Beckett wanted to punch the son of a bitch in the face, preferably breaking his nose, but held back. She noticed Castle's eyes narrow ever so slightly, while, tucked against his side, his hand balled into a fist. The tension rippled from his body, but he remained as still and calm as if the fiend hadn't just insinuated he'd slept with her and found her wanting. His restraint was admirable.

"I heard you've started to sing," Castle said, ignoring the jest.

Hunt stared at Beckett for a long heartbeat before sighing in disappointment and turning back to Castle.

"Why shouldn't I?" he demanded. "Bastards threw me under the bus. I don't owe those uptight fools bloody anything."

"No loyalty, I see," Beckett grunted in disgust. "You're in it for the money, not the cause."

"No harm in that, love," Hunt flashed her a saucy wink. He smiled, clearly enjoying himself. "Whoever said money doesn't buy you happiness was full of shit. Money buys you freedom."

Beckett leaned forward, planting her hands on her knees as she glared at Hunt, wearing the interrogation mask she'd perfected over her career. "Freedom, huh? Funny. You don't look free to me right now." She pursed her lips into a thin line and breathed through her nose. "What do you know about Lazarus?"

"Lazarus?" Hunt pretended to think. "Ain't that the bloke from the Bible that Jesus brought back to life?"

Annoyed, Beckett gave the chains binding him a sharp tug, making him jerk forward, wiping the smirk of his face.

"You wanna try that again?" she asked.

Colin Hunt grunted and flicked his eyes towards Castle. "Tenacious, isn't she?"

"You have no idea," was Castle's response. "Now, answer the question."

"Fine, ease off, would you?" Hunt surrendered, raising his hands up as high as his bonds would allow.

"We know Lazarus is Bracken," Beckett inserted.

Hunt let out a low whistle. "Well, now, isn't this the development," he grinned. "Boy, he's got a hard on for you, Kate. He wants you dead, badly, but you keep alluding the reaper." His smile widened and he waggled his eyebrows at her. "Good for you."

"Just tell us what you know," she growled, having enough of his attitude.

No doubt he thought his pout was sexy and alluring, but she just found it pathetic. Disappointed in receiving no reaction from either of them, he sobered quickly and resumed his singing. "I don't know much, but I do know Bracken used his connection with the Consortium to contract me to keep an eye on you on his behalf. I was already in the city on Consortium business, and their interests align enough that the Board allowed it."

"The Board?" Beckett questioned, brow furrowed.

"The Consortium's leadership," Castle informed her, before gesturing for Hunt to continue.

"They'd learned a young British model—"

"Naomi Allen," Beckett interjected. "Say her name, you sick son of a bitch."

Seeing her glare made him hold his tongue on whatever supposed witty retort he had for that. "They'd learned Naomi Allen was looking into the death of her fiancé the doctor," the pretender explained. "She wasn't just a looker, I'll give her that. She had some brains to go with those legs. Somehow she was able to link the good doctor's death back to Wyndham through some tenuous connection with that music producer we interviewed, Biggie Slim."

Castle cocked his head and glanced over at Beckett. "Those names sound familiar, I think, at least Wyndham."

"He's Deputy general of the British Consulate here in New York," Beckett informed him.

"Ah," Castle snapped his fingers. "Yeah, now I remember. I read a briefing back when we were tracking Johann Kriedt about someone funneling arms to Uganda. We'd thought it was Kriedt, but he'd steered clear of the conflicts in Africa. All we'd got was the name Wyndham."

Beckett's eyes alighted as the rest of the story fell into place. "They were running a black market weapons trade into Africa using Wyndham's diplomatic transport capabilities."

"And the Consortium wanted in," Castle surmised with a nod. "Just the sort of thing they'd want to be a part of. An organization like them are always on the lookout for new sources of revenue."

"Cute," Hunt interjected, snapping them out of it. They jerked away and glanced back at the imposter. "You two always finish each other's sentences?"

Ignoring the taunt, Beckett leaned forward. "Everything you told me about Naomi was true, just not your connection to her," she asserted.

"Yeah, sorry about that, love," Hunt grinned boyishly, not at all sincere.

"Why kill her?" Beckett asked, wanting to know, even though she knew they were wasting time discussing the Naomi Allen murder, but she still felt the need to find justice for that poor young woman. "She would have exposed the operation."

"Orders," Hunt shrugged. "Exposing Wyndham and Biggie Slim would have revealed the pipeline they were using to transport the weapons, and the Consortium wanted that to remain hidden."

Castle nodded. "So they could plant their own man in Wyndham's place and take it over."

"Exactly," Hunt tried to snap his fingers, but when he raised his hand to do so the chain stopped him. He frowned.

"Back to Bracken," Beckett said, now wanting to get back on target. "Why send you to watch me? It doesn't make sense. He probably had others observing, from a safe distance, less likely to be made."

Colin Hunt slid his gaze over to her and smiled. "You know why. I can see it all over your face. He's cleaning house and wanted to make sure you didn't make a mess of that. But, oops, looks like you have."

She growled, low in her throat, and wanted to punch the smug son of a bitch in the face, but held back.

"You said he was cleaning house," she repeated, keeping her cool. "Can you be more specific?"

"Besides you, you mean?" he chuckled, then grew serious. "Look, I want protection, you hear. There's no way they'll ever let me go, so you tell your CIA friends out there that I'm cooperating with you. No need for those enhanced interrogations their planning. I'll stop dicking around and tell them everything. Everything. You hear me."

Beckett exchanged a long look with Castle, trying not to plead with him to use his influence with Danberg to grant that request. She wouldn't mind Hunt being subjected to such things, but her pesky conscience was getting in the way. She could hate his guts, but that didn't mean she wanted to see him get tortured. They had to draw the line somewhere, otherwise what the hell were they fighting for. Castle swallowed and inclined his head just enough that only she could notice the gesture.

"I'll see what I can do," Castle said, turning to face Hunt.

"Right. That will have to do," Hunt agreed.

"Okay," Beckett said, shifting closer. "Talk. What else do you know?"

"Mostly I do outside contract work for the Consortium," Hunt started. "But this mission was different. Once the Board signed off on Bracken's request, I was given access to more details, so I'd know what I was walking into. They wanted me properly informed on what was going on between you two."

"Keep going," Beckett coaxed when he stalled out.

"Okay, okay." He licked his lips, nervous. "There's something else out there that scares Bracken more than you."

"And what's that?"

He hesitated, and she could see the conflict of second thoughts behind his eyes, but before the tide changed his decision, he continued, the threat of torture at the hand of the CIA outweighing the other side.

"There's a recording," he stated in a soft voice, as if it were the most dangerous thing in the world and speaking any louder would invoke the wrath of some avenging demon. "A recording made by one of Bracken's former associates to protect himself," Hunt resumed. "A recording in which Bracken admits to murder."

A spark of hope ignited in her belly.

"According to the dossier they sent me, it was clear Bracken had spent considerable resources trying to recover it," Hunt went on. "But with no luck. Hell, it may not even exist. The point is Bracken believes it does. He's obsessed with finding it and destroying it."

"And Kilmer?" it was Castle asking the question. Beckett was grateful he'd allowed her to handle most of the interrogation herself.

Hunt smirked, glancing over at Beckett again. "He just wanted you two torn apart, and I agreed, for the extra cash and fun. Nothing other than that." He sobered. "Not much fun, though. Seeing as I'm about to be transported to a black site."

Beckett narrowed her eyes. That explained why he'd been so willing to talk now, with the threat of those CIA interrogations looming over him. "How can we trust a thing you've said? You've done nothing but lie to me since we've met."

"Not all of it was a lie," he said. "Some of it was true. A good lie doesn't work unless there's some truth behind it." He paused, glanced at Castle. "Ask him, he knows what I'm talking about. Right, mate?"

"I'm not your mate," Castle growled.

Shrugging, Hunt turned back to Beckett with an almost pleading look in his eyes. All the bravado and swagger had vanished. "You need proof, right?"

"That would be nice, yes," she said, leaning back against the wall of the van and crossing her arms, waiting.

"I'm a dead man," he said in subdued acceptance of the fact. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. You're both in over your heads. The Consortium has a long reach. They know I've been outed. They know I'm in custody. It's only a matter of time until they silence me for good. So, Kate," he shifted staring directly into her eyes, "I have no reason to lie. As I said earlier, I don't owe them a thing."

She stared at him for a long beat and, despite everything, felt a small bit of sympathy for him. "I believe you," she asserted, surprising even herself. She did. She couldn't quite wrap her head around it, but she did.

He nodded, and turned to look back at Castle. "You can't fight them," he persisted. "I know you think you can. But you can't. If you love her as much as I think you do, you get her out of here. Run. Disappear. Because if you don't, they'll kill you… if Kilmer doesn't get you first."

Castle opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a warning knock sounded and the back doors of the van opened, signaling their time was up.

"Sorry," Danberg announced with a contrite expression. "We need to get moving."

Beckett nodded and moved to get out. She hopped down from the van and glanced back to see Castle and Hunt staring at one another.

"Castle?" she called.

He broke his stare down with the captured Consortium agent and stood, ducking his head down as he stepped out of the armored van. They moved back as two of Agent Danberg's men in tactical gear loaded up into the back compartment with Colin Hunt. Another man closed the doors and pounded his fist against the metal.

"Here," Danberg said, handing Castle a thick envelope. Beckett arched her neck as her boyfriend opened it and saw that it was stuffed with cash. "It's all clean. Figured you could use some untraceable funds."

"Thanks, Martin," Castle said, extending his hand. "It's really appreciated."

Danberg shook his hand. "What are friends for."

Castle grinned. "Right back at you, buddy."

The two parted and Danberg looked at Beckett with a bemused expression. "You take care of him, Detective."

"Oh, I will," she declared, proffering her hand. "It's been a pleasure, Agent Danberg."

"Pleasure was all mine," he returned.

A woman with dark hair, and a confident air of authority, came around the van. "We're all ready, Agent Danberg."

"Thanks, Susan," he said, inclining his head, before turning back to them. "And that's my cue." He moved to depart, but then stopped, glancing back at them from over his shoulder, locking eyes with Castle. "If you need anything, I'll be at the Bunker."

"Roger that," Castle offered a playful salute that had Danberg shaking his head, but smiling all the same.

"The Bunker?" Beckett asked, puzzled, as Danberg climbed into the front passenger seat on the van.

Castle inclined his head as they stepped back, watching as the white armored van pulled out of the parking slot. "It's where I've been the past two months, when I wasn't out in the field," he explained. "York had us run Operation Mongoose from there for security reasons."

"Operation Mongoose?" she repeated, shaking her head. "You guys need to come up with better names."

"Yeah, we do," he concurred with a grin, draping an arm over her shoulder as they watched the van carrying Colin Hunt accelerate and disappear up the exit ramp. Sighing, he shifted his gaze to her, admiring the quiet beauty of her features locked in concentration. "What's next?"  
A smile touched her lips and she released a light chuckle. "You're asking me?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "Shouldn't it be the other way around? Isn't this sort of thing old hat to you?"

"It is, yes," he inclined his head, grinning roguishly. "But you're the quarterback here, Kate. We can rush the defense, or go for a Hail Mary. Whichever you pick, I'm backing your play."

She matched his gaze for a long beat, before declaring, "I prefer baseball."

He tilted his head and let out a long hum as he thought. "Sorry, don't know any good baseball analogies that work with this situation. I'll stick with football."  
"Men," she shook her head in feigned exasperation, speaking half to herself, before arching her neck to look back at him with a smirk. "Fine. I'll call an audible."

"Ooh, exciting," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, but went on. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm going to have to agree with that bastard."

His smile disappeared. "You wanna run?"

"No," she asserted, not even bothering to hide her disgust at such a suggestion. "No, I didn't say that."

"I'm sensing a but..."

She gave him a pointed look. "_But_," she put more emphasis on the word than was strictly necessary, "the heat is too hot right now. We can't get anything done with IAB and half the NYPD breathing down our necks. So, we need to lay low for a while. At least for today, and maybe tomorrow. We need to rest and regroup." She paused as her stomach growled. "And perhaps get some food. I'm starving." She stared up at him, expectantly. "Can we do that?"

Castle glanced down at the envelope with the thick stack of cash. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think we can."

XXX

He felt useless. And he hated it. He had even broken down and called Lanie, needing someone with whom he could vent about it with. They hadn't talked that much since their break up, at least on a non-professional level, but this was one thing they could discuss without past relationship issues interfering. She was worried about Beckett. As was he. But they both felt more assured knowing that Castle, with all his CIA training behind him, was with her. Castle would use every resource at his disposal to keep Kate Beckett safe, of that, he had no doubt.

Detective Esposito sat at his desk, waiting for a phone call that had yet to come, probably never would. He was irrationally angry about it. His cellphone was undoubtedly tapped. The Justice Department task force was working closely with IAB in pursuing Beckett, seeing how Vulcan Simmons had been a key player in whatever they'd been investigating. After Castle had left in search of Beckett, Agent McCord had even warned him and his partner from getting involved, specifically telling them to stay clear of the investigation, even though she suspected they wouldn't heed that advice. For an outsider, McCord had their team dynamics pegged.

However, even if they had wanted to help Beckett, they couldn't. They were out of the loop. Something that had become routine ever since Beckett hooked up with the spy. And Esposito found that damn frustrating. He—_they —_couldn't protect her if they were excluded from the party. It was childish, but he couldn't help but feel that way.

Captain Donovan had taken over the conference room, transforming it into his own personal war room, hellbent on apprehending Beckett with a ruthless tenacity that bordered on a vendetta. His behavior was demonstrative of why some viewed the Internal Affairs Bureau as weasels and rats, looking to take down good cops. Thankfully, Gates and McCord had pushed back against formal murder charges from being brought against Beckett, at least until she was in custody. Still, fleeing the precinct hadn't done her any favors. Donovan, with hesitant agreement from McCord, had named her a fugitive, with the charges of evading arrest and obstruction of justice being leveled as cause.

Esposito ducked his head down, pretending to be focused on his paperwork, as two IAB detectives appeared from the break room and strolled through the bullpen. He could feel their eyes on him, their suspicion. Ignoring them, he kept his eyes locked on his computer screen. Just as they turned to enter the conference room, one of the IAB detectives not so casually glanced back at Esposito. His beady eyes narrowed a bit, the meaning clear. They were watching him.

Yeah, well, _he_ was watching them. Fuckers.

Letting out a mild curse in Spanish, frustrated with his inability to do anything but sit on his ass, Esposito spun around and rolled his chair over to join his partner at his desk. Detective Kevin Ryan looked downcast and dejected.

"She's all over the news," Ryan said, despondent, shoulders slumped as he twiddled his thumbs. "Have you heard anything from them? Calls? Texts?"

Esposito grunted and shook his head. "Nothing yet. They've gone radio silent." Which, he had to agree, reluctantly, was probably for the best, but he didn't say that. "And we can't make a move until we know where they are and if they need our help." Then he added under his voice, not bothering to hide his resentment at being sidelined, "if they even want our help."

Ryan nodded slowly, glancing over at him with his large, expressive eyes. Esposito placed his hand on his shoulder in a sign of support. It was tough, not knowing what was going on. Beckett was more than just a friend and colleague. She was like family. _Familia_.

"Gentlemen."

Jerking around, Esposito was startled to find their commanding officer standing behind them. Captain Gates held up a hand and smiled softly as she grabbed the back of another chair and rolled it over. Sitting down, she met their eyes with an almost challenging look.

"Is there something going on here that I should know about?" she inquired.

Esposito glanced briefly at his partner before returning, deciding to play dumb. "Um… what do you mean, sir?"

Gates gave him a pointed look and shook her head, as if she were disappointed in them. "Beckett's not a killer, I know that," she started, keeping her voice low. "But she's going to go down for this, open and shut, unless I can protect her. And I can't do that if I'm left in the dark. So, if she's being set up, I need to know why."

Esposito went through several emotions during that little speech. At one point, he was indignant and offended, dubious that the woman who'd been known as 'Iron Gates' during her tenure with the NYPD's Internal Affairs Bureau could actually look beyond the mountain full of evidence and believe it was a set up. He regarded Gates for a long moment, considering that perhaps moving out of IAB had shifted some of her staunch will and melted that cold heart. Deciding it was time to trust her—what did they have to lose?—Esposito met Ryan's eyes and inclined his head.

"Sir," Ryan took up the torch, in a quiet, tentative voice, broaching the subject first. "How much do you know about Beckett's mother's murder?"

Gates rolled her shoulders, her expression telling them she was surprised by the question. "It was a random stabbing. Never solved."

Esposito released a slow breath, before fulling committing. "There's a lot more to it than that."

Obviously intrigued, Gates leaned in, her voice turning firm, with a hint of demand. "Tell me everything."


	27. Chapter 26

_*There's a little M-Rated moment in the center of this chapter._

* * *

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 26**_

* * *

Agent Rachel McCord watched through the blinds in the break room as Captain Gates slipped into the bullpen and sat down across from Detectives Esposito and Ryan. The trio eventually brought their chairs closer together and huddled their heads, talking. She narrowed her eyes, curious as to what the three of them could be up to. A knock from the doorway pulled her gaze away, and she turned to see Hendricks appear with two to-go cups of coffee.

"I had one of the junior agents run out and get us some coffee," he said, stepping over to join her.

She accepted it with a small smile. "Thank you, the stuff here is terrible," she sighed and took a long sip of the rich brew, savoring the flavors.

"You don't really think Detective Beckett killed Simmons, do you?" Hendricks asked.

McCord waited a moment before answering, taking the time to swallow the coffee. "No, I don't," she told her partner. "But we have to follow the evidence. And right now all the evidence is pointing at her."

Hendricks jerked his head towards the conference room and McCord followed his gaze. "Captain Donovan isn't even interested in reviewing the M.E.'s findings or the forensic reports. He's locked in on Beckett. For him, the case is all about her."

Sighing again, McCord shook her head. She was disappointed in the detective. Kate Beckett had so much potential, but she'd allowed herself to become distracted, shackled to that arrogant jackass CIA officer Richard Castle. The man was a menace. McCord didn't know what the other woman saw in him. He must be great in bed, was all she could think. Turning away from the sight of Captain Donovan pacing in front of the white board, she glanced back at her partner.

"Detective Beckett didn't do herself any favors by running," she said. "And her boyfriend compounded matters by not cooperating. They forced our hand, making us double down on the charges, adding fugitive status."

"Can you blame him?" Hendricks asked, brow furrowing.

"I suppose I can't," McCord acknowledged. There was a reason she preferred no string relationships. She shifted and brought the coffee cup up for another long sip. Narrowing her eyes, she glared back out at the conference room, watching as Donovan shouted angrily at two of his subordinates. "There's something off about him."

"No shit," Hendricks said with a smirk, making his partner chuckle. "What do you wanna do?"

"If we go with the assumption that Beckett's being framed, then there's more going on here than there appears," she reasoned, then paused, eyebrows knitting together in thought as she silently ran a theory through her head. "We still have access to the _Future Forward_ account records?" she inquired.

"Yeah," Hendricks nodded. "Why?"

McCord turned back to him. "We should take another look."

He shook his head, confused. "But we already checked. Most of the money bounced around between accounts until dispersing enough to become untraceable."

"Still, it's worth another look," McCord asserted, glancing back out at Captain Donovan. "One thing I learned early on in my career was that it never hurts to follow the money."

XXX

Frowning, she leaned back in the chair and pondered all that had been said. It was all too much, difficult to believe, but she did. She didn't want to, because the consequences of it were too enormous to ignore. But she did. There was a ring of truth to it all. Shifting, Captain Gates bent forward, placing her hands on her knees as she stared back at Detectives Ryan and Esposito.

"Is there any proof that Bracken did these things?" she asked.

Esposito dropped his head, his dejected expression telling all she needed to know, but he gave it voice anyways. "Not anymore," he informed her in a hush whisper, still wary of the IAB cops roaming the precinct, not to mention the FBI agents. "Montgomery had a file, but it's gone now."

"Maddox," Gates stated, connecting the dots. "When I found you three—Beckett, Castle, yourself—at that hotel where a bomb had gone off. That room had been littered in debris, mainly paper."

Esposito confirmed her hunch with a nod. "We managed to piece some of it together, enough to point us towards Bracken, but beyond that… we've got nothing."

Silence fell between them all as they contemplated the abysmal truth of that fact.

"Sir," Ryan let out a sigh as he leaned forward, glancing at her with large, hopeful eyes. "We need to help her."

Gates sat back, and averted her gaze in thought. "No evidence, against one of the most powerful men in the country," she summarized their predicament. She released a breath. "I don't think we can, Detective. But… we might not have to."

"Sir?" Esposito questioned.

Gates smiled knowingly. "She has Castle with her."

XXX

"Here we are," Castle opened the door with a dramatic flourish that would have made his mother proud. "The fugitive suite. The best room that cash and no ID can buy."

Beckett couldn't help but smile at his joke. He always knew how to brighten her mood, even when it threatened to swallow her up. She stepped in and squinted, glancing around the cheap motel room, pursing her lips and scrunching up her face in mild disgust. Dated wallpaper surrounded them, cracked and pealing. The carpeting had seen better days. And the white bedsheets had yellowed with age. The room was in a sad and depressing state, but for the level of anonymity they wanted, this was all they had.

Castle followed her in and closed the door behind him, turning the deadbolt and sliding the chain into place before dumping the plastic bag on the rickety table by the window. Beckett sighed and tugged the hood down, combing her fingers through her hair. She glanced once more at the bed and shuddered. Just looking at it made her itchy.

"It'll do," she declared after a second, sauntering back to join him, parting the raggedy curtains enough to peer out at the dirty street below bathed in late afternoon sunlight. "Rough neighborhood. We shouldn't stay long. We stand out too much."

Castle shook his head. "We can manage the night," he asserted. He made a broad gesture at her. "With that oversized sweater and hood, the clerk probably thinks you're an addict selling yourself for money to buy more drugs."

She placed her hands on her hips and glared. "Did you really just call me a crack whore!?"

"Hey, don't knock it," Castle deflected with a roll of his shoulders as he winked at her. "As things go, it's a pretty good cover for this part of town. No one is going to question it." However, his serious tone was belied by the smirk working its way across his ruggedly handsome features.

"This isn't funny, Castle."

He shrugged in return. "Hey, I learned long ago that to survive in this line of work, you need to take the laughs when and where you find them," he supplied. Castle stepped over and offered her a hug. She hesitated for a brief second of indignant fury, before succumbing to the magnetic pull and leaning in to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he gently swayed her back and forth in a comforting manner. "It's just for the night."

She pouted like a child. "I guess."

Pulling back, Castle flashed her one of his delighted looks and kissed her. "That a girl," he grinned, stroking her hair like she was some pet.

She growled.

Flashing a grin, he jerked back before she could punch him.

As he judged the stability of the chair, gazing uncertainly at the sticky substance coating the seat, Beckett started to pace. She expected to feel exhausted after the long trek through the city. They'd kept a low profile, staying mostly on foot after grabbing a bite at a fast food joint across from a rundown Walgreens. She had waited outside the store as Castle dashed inside to acquire some supplies. Spinning around, she watched him remove said supplies from the plastic bag and arrange them along the wobbly table.

"I don't like this, staying still," she announced, knowing it was silly, as it had been her suggestion they lay low for a while. "We should be out there, taking the fight to Bracken."

Castle looked up with a guarded expression. "I know, Kate, I do," he said. "But how? By looking for some mythical tape that no one can find? No. I'm forced to agree with you. Colin Hunt was right. It's not just Bracken we have to worry about. Or Kilmer. The Consortium wants him in the White House. They will do whatever is necessary to achieve their goals." He produced a package of hair dye from the bag and set it out on the table. "Once we change your look, we get out of town."

"And go where?" she demanded.

He stopped what he was doing and approached her, grabbing her arms and holding her still. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere far from here."

"I'll never be safe," Beckett declared, on the verge of tears. "Not as long as Bracken's out there."

Castle sighed, his hands dropping to his side. "We can't do this alone, Beckett. Not when he has the Consortium's backing. It's bigger than us. Bigger than your mother's murder."

Her bottom lip trembled. "I know," she forced out. She hated to admit it, but this whole thing had become so much more than Johanna Beckett's death. It was where it had started, for her, but the conspiracy was vast and far-reaching. She drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes, finding her calm. "Perhaps we're not looking at it correctly."

"Huh?"

Beckett rolled her shoulders and gestured with her hands as she spoke, the anxious energy bubbling up inside her. "What if it's like a Jenga tower, you remove the wrong—or in this case, the right—block and it all comes tumbling down. What if my mom's case is that? It's a crime we can link to Bracken, and through him we get the Consortium."

Castle sat on the edge of the bed and furrowed his brow in thought. "Perhaps," he conceded.

Beckett nodded, feeling more confident. She hesitated before joining him, perching on the edge of the filthy mattress. "You know, Castle, my mom had a saying. _Vincit Omnia Veritas_."

He cocked his head to the side and met her eyes. "Truth conquers all."

She nodded and reached out for his hand, clasping it in hers. "We'll never find the truth if we run away."

"We aren't running away," he assured her. "Just regrouping."

Beckett bit her lower lip and nodded, acknowledging that he was right. She had even said so herself back in the underground garage. The heat from the NYPD manhunt hampered much of what they could do, forcing them to remain in the shadows. But that's where Castle operated most of the time. As a spy, it was his job to not be seen. However, she had to concede that to expose an organization such as the Consortium, it had to be achieved in the open, where all could see. That was the only way to ensure their safety from any retributions.

Letting out a breath, Beckett turned into Castle's side, leaning against his shoulder. "I'm just so tired of waiting," she said. "Of looking over my shoulder, always on the alert for the next shoe to drop." She shifted, nuzzling her nose against his throat, nipping at his jaw. "I'm just so tired." Releasing his hand, she climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, arching into him as she bent to kiss him.

Castle hummed softly into her lips, lightly gripping her hips as she started to grind against him, making little needy noises. He opened for her, allowing her to deepen the embrace, and the low embers ignited into an inferno. The familiar strings of arousal tugged at her core. Her hips took on a will of their own, bucking and rolling as she settled further into his lap.

"Kate?" he breathed out when they parted for air, glancing up at her with dark, cobalt eyes, so full of understanding, love, and acceptance.

No one had ever accepted her as completely as he did, flaws and all. He accepted every single jagged piece of her: Mind, body, and soul. She wanted to bathe in that acceptance, feel the assuring touch of his love, dull the ache of failure away, if only for a short time. She could have that from him. If she asked, he would provide.

"Kate?" he repeated, pulling her back.

She stared at him with large, liquid eyes, her body thrumming to the beat of her desire. She released a husky breath, and carded her fingers through his rich, thick hair, before cradling his face in her trembling hands. God, he was gorgeous. She loved him so much. Her heart was his. And his was hers.

"Take it away. Make me forget. Please, Castle," she keened. "If only for a while… just… make me forget."

Castle swallowed thickly, and she watched the motion of his throat, mesmerized by it.

"Please, Castle," she begged, unashamed, rocking her hips into him, feeling his body answering her call. She ground down into his growing arousal, taunting, seducing. Gripping his face in her hands, she drove forward and claimed his mouth with hers, kissing him hard and demanding.

Castle answered the call, as she knew he would. He could never refuse her.

Clothes went flying. In no time, both of them were gloriously naked. Desire blinded all else, their grimy and dingy surroundings forgotten as they focused on each other. The magnetic pull that existed between them could not be denied or resisted. They surrendered willingly to its thrall. As their mouths did battle, hands roamed, soothed, groped, stroked. His touch was like a balm to her soul, washing away all her worries and cares. The flames of passion burned brightly between them as their bodies aligned and came together. She relished in it, basking in the thrill and sheer delight of their impending union, opening to him, inviting him in. They wrestled for control, as they always did, until Beckett pretended to let him win, allowing him to pin her down and take her.

"Now, now!" she all but shouted, surging up into him, hips rising, clashing, her blood boiling with the desperate need.

Castle claimed her mouth in a soaring kiss as he plunged inside her without further preamble, cradling her close as he started in on a demanding pace, not even pausing to give her quivering body a moment to adjust to the wonderous intrusion.

It was rough, yet oddly sweet and tender, halfway between fucking and lovemaking. The contrast made her delirious. She reveled in the delightful mix of his aggressive possessiveness and gentle tenderness, a combination in which she reciprocated wholeheartedly. It was perfect. He took her. And she took him. They easily alternated between positions and control. It was a wonderful back and forth they so often played. Effortless and breathtakingly natural. It had only even been like this with him, like it was more than their bodies that they shared when together like this.

The rest of the world and its troubles fell away. All there was… was him. Them. And the intimacy they shared. He gave her pleasure. And she gave it back. They were matched, and they both gloried in it. He brought her to the very cusp of the edge nearly three times before allowing her to fall, and she cried his name, clinging to him with a desperate need when she did. He followed soon after, and their lax and sated bodies seemed to melt and meld as if they were one.

It was everything she could have asked for, all she wanted and more.

XXX

He thought the selection of the meeting place was interesting. It wasn't what he had expected, not for such an important meeting, but it was fitting. This was where a Consortium representative had recruited him into being an outside contractor, needing someone who could operate more in the open. It was here that the moniker of 'the Knave' had been bestowed upon him.

Pursing his lips in a tight smile, barely visible, Ray Kilmer stepped through the door of the pub, his ears immediately assaulted by the lively Irish jig blaring from the speakers. The lights were dim, and a haze of smoke hung in the air. His eyes scanned the interior, noting the sparse crowds of late afternoon drinkers. Not a one appeared a threat to him, supporting his decision to leave Piotr in the Escalade with the bound Huxley. If things didn't go as planned, he'd need a quick escape, so it was better that the big driver remained outside. Besides, Kilmer hardly needed protection.

He was weapon enough.

Marching up to the old bar with its all the marks and scratches, he slammed a palm down on the surface and summoned the bartender. A muscled man with a unshaved face and unruly brown hair sauntered over, wiping his hands on a dirty washcloth. He wore a sleeveless shirt, displaying impressive biceps covered in tattoos.

"What can I get you?" he asked with a light Irish accent.

"Vodka, straight up, with lemon," he ordered, using the passcode the Swan had provided him.

The man locked eyes with him and nodded. "I'll have that right up for you, I will," he said with a nod, and sauntered away.

A moment later, and older man with a grizzled face, like stone, plopped down onto the barstool beside him. Despite his years, he was formidable with his barrel chest and big hands. His hard face was covered in a thick white beard that matched the wisps of hair atop his crown. Kilmer recognized him immediately. Finn Rourke, leader of the Westies. Kilmer had long suspected the gang's ties with a larger organization, ever since his recruitment, and the senior man's appearance now confirmed it.

"Interesting choice of drinks, laddie," his voice was gravelly, thick with the brogue of his native land.

Kilmer eyed him with a sidelong glance. "I was in a mood," he replied.

Finn Rourke offered a half grin. "Aye, you may be, lad. You may be. We hardly do keep any in stock. We here are whiskey connoisseurs. Right, me lads!?" He twisted his torso around and held up his glass of the said amber liquid.

Those within earshot raised their own glasses in salute and let out a cheer. Rourke grinned and took a deep gulp from his glass, smacking his lips together, relishing the drink. He turned back to Kilmer.

"I know who you be, lad," he announced with a slight bow of his head. "And we might have what you're looking for in the back." He threw back his glass, emptying the contents, before slamming it face down on the bar top, sighing with satisfaction. "Sure enough, I'll show you myself. Follow me," he said, sliding of the barstool.

Kilmer followed the older man as he strolled towards the back of the bar, past the pool table, where it was dark and smoky. Two large men with ginger hair parted for them and they walked down a narrow hallway, away from the scents and sounds of the bar. Rourke stopped by a door and glanced back at him with wary blue eyes. It was strange from a man who commanded as much respect as he did within his community of thugs and cutthroats.

"They're all here, lad," Rourke informed him. "Unpleasant bunch. Lack of respect, is what it is. We've all done a lot for 'em, but they're proud sons-of-bitches, unwilling to come down from their lofty heights to mingle with the commons."

"They will be made to acknowledge our efforts," Kilmer answered calmly, displaying no emotion. "If they refuse to listen… I'll make them."

"Aye, I suspect you will," Rourke nodded in agreement. "Well, go to it then. I'll have whiskey waiting for you when you're done."

He couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising. Oh. He should have known. Finn Rourke was a proud man, disliked being under the boot of another. He'd wondered why the two ginger head brutes hadn't searched him. A thin smile twisted its way across his lips and he offered the gang boss a slight incline of his head. They had an understanding. Good, he thought. This was a pleasant bonus to his schemes. Having Finn Rourke backing his play would be helpful in the hours and days to come.

"I'll leave you to it then," Rourke said, then departed with haste, signaling his guards at the end of the hall. The big gingers stalked after their boss.

With the twisted smile stuck on his face, Kilmer grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

XXX

Rolling over onto her side, Kate Beckett let out a satisfied sigh, stretching like a contented feline, watching as her boyfriend sat up and started hunting for his boxers. She felt loose and limber. Good sex did that. She leaned back, lying askew on the bed, enjoying the view. Rick Castle really had a magnificent ass. And it, along with other parts of his delicious body, belonged to her. Shifting into a more relaxed reclined posture, she propped her elbow up and rested her chin in her palm as she unashamedly ogled her boyfriend's nakedness.

Castle grabbed a package of paper towels off the rickety table, ripped the plastic wrappings, and tore off several sheets. He turned, gracing her with a full frontal view of his magnificence—which she very much appreciated—and handed her some of the paper towels to clean up.

"_Bounty. The Quicker Picker Upper_," he declared in a singsong voice, matching the jingle perfectly.

"Ugh, very romantic, Castle," she rolled her eyes.

"Ah, but it made you smile!"

"Did not," she quickly wiped the smile off her face and feigned a menacing snarl.

Castle merely laughed, shaking his head.

Groaning, not yet ready to break out of their lovely interlude, she relented and accepted the proffered items. Castle merely smirked, and set to work getting dressed. She didn't approve of that at all. She liked him naked.

"Can't you just stay in bed?" she asked, flashing him a sultry pout as he hiked up his trousers, zipped and buttoned them up. "Just… one more round."

"Three not enough for you?" His lips parted in an amused laugh, referring to the number of orgasms he'd given her, and glanced back at her with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

She liked that very much, but shook her head. "Just one more round," she repeated her request. "We have several months to make up for."

He sighed, carding his fingers through his unruly hair as he walked back over and bent down, cupping her face in his hand as he kissed her soundly.

"I'd love nothing more," Castle concurred, smiling broadly, before turning serious. "But unfortunately the real world won't stop for us." He stepped back and located his discarded shirt, pulled it on.

Grumbling in disappointment, Beckett sat up and brushed her sex tousled hair back, hooking some loose strands behind an ear, the weight of recent events returning to stifle her playful mood. Their time out was officially over. "Right," she acknowledged with a nod, expression grim, not happy about it. "Thank you."

"For what?" he quirked up a questioning eyebrow. "The orgasms?"

She almost laughed, but managed to hold back. She did, however, roll her eyes and shake her head. "Yes, for those," Beckett relented. "But more for allowing me—_us_—to indulge in some _us_ time. After everything that's happened, I… I really needed it, needed to be together, especially when it's been so long since we had any proper time to be alone, just the two of us."

Castle nodded. "Same." He looked at her for a long beat, then inhaled a quick breath. "We will take down Bracken, Kate. I promise you that. First we're going to find a safe place to come up with a plan. Safer than here. Out of the city." He bent down and snatched up his TCD-74 off the floor, where it had fallen during their haste to divest each other of their clothes. Castle flipped it open, momentarily distracted. Jerking his head back up, he announced, "I'm going out."

"Where?" she asked, unable to conceal her concern.

Castle flashed her a reassuring look. "I need to find us some transportation," he said with an easy grin.

"So… you're going to steal someone's car," she translated with a raised eyebrow.

"Stop being so judgmental," he made a _pfft _sound and waved his hand as if to dismiss such a suggestion. "Borrow," he shook his head at her. "Steal… such an ugly word."

She rolled her eyes at him, and he flashed her wink. After strapping his shoulder holster into place, his SIG Sauer properly secured, he shrugged his jacket on, ready to leave. He stepped back over, dipping his head down to kiss her one more time. Beckett closed her eyes and released a breath when he pulled back. Opening her eyes, she watched as he walked towards the door, freed the chain, and unlock the deadbolt. He glanced back, her jovial boyfriend replaced by the highly trained CIA officer.

"Lock up after me," Castle instructed. He paused, sweeping an appreciating gaze over her still nude form, shaking his head as if in regret at giving up the sight. His eyes alighted with mischief. Castle looked at her, suppressing a smirk. "I'll be back," he declared in a fairly respectable imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger, before opening the motel room door and ducking out.

Beckett sluggishly rolled off the bed and padded over to the closed door, doing as he suggested, sliding the chain into place and securing the deadbolt. Sighing, she bent and retrieved her undergarments. She tugged her panties on and slipped into her bra. Grabbing her shirt, she pulled it on over her head and brushed her long hair out of the collar, freeing the luscious curls to flow down her shoulders. Glancing down at the carpeting with a dubious and slightly disgusted look, she perched herself on the edge of the bed and pulled on her socks.

Slapping her naked thighs, Beckett stood up and walked over to the wobbly table, examining the contents from the plastic bag Castle had spread out earlier. She tore off some more sheets of paper towels, and reluctantly picked up the box of hair colorant Castle had bought, knowing they might need to change her appearance. She stared at the picture on the box, showing an overly excited woman beaming out with a too white smile and vibrant blonde locks. The text below promised results in 12 minutes. She frowned. She liked her hair as it was, had worked hard to develop the light brunette tresses from her natural darker shade. She didn't want to be blonde.

"It's only temporary," she reminded herself out loud with a defeated sigh.

Picking up the necessary items, she trudged towards the bathroom. Beckett wanted to fight, to storm right at Bracken, and that's what she probably would have done if it weren't for Castle. She'd have gone off half-cocked, and would have probably got herself killed. Not now. His presence in her life had changed her. For the better, she liked the think.

Solving her mother's murder had become a dark and dangerous obsession. She had fallen down that rabbit hole before and barely survived. The scar in the center of her chest was a testament to that struggle, a reminder of the price she'd almost paid for that obsession. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. This time would be different. She'd follow Castle's lead, take the slow, methodical path, go at Bracken when all the ammunition was stockpiled, when victory was assured.

Beckett fought the gag reflex after she turned on the light and saw the grimy state of the bathroom. The once white tiles were now a pale yellow. The sink was an ugly blue color, with a dirty and rusty faucet. The toilet and small shower stall weren't any better. Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes and stared at her reflection in the spotty mirror, choosing not to speculate on what had made those stains or spots on the reflective surface. Their stay here was only temporary. And Castle was right. The cheaper the place, the easier it was for them to go unnoticed. Even their vigorous and boisterous sexual activities had probably actually assisted in them blending in, no doubt confirming the desk clerk's assumption that she was a crack whore and Castle her john.

Beckett blinked at her reflection, and brushed her hands through her hair, trying to imagine herself as a blonde. She tugged on the long strands and considered it might also be smart to cut her hair. She'd once worn her hair short. But she'd miss her long hair. It had taken her a considerable time to grow it out to the point she liked. But it had to be done. She gripped the scissors in her hand, but couldn't bring herself to do any more than that.

Sighing, Beckett ducked her head and reached for the necklace she wore around her neck with her free hand, seeking out her mother's ring for comfort and reassurance that she was doing the right thing. But her fingers grasped at nothing. Her heart kicked as eyes went wide, worry that she'd lost her mother's ring racing through her veins. No. No. She tried to calm herself. She'd had it on earlier, when she'd fled the precinct and took to the streets. She'd had it when she'd met Castle in the park. She'd had it… Oh. A soft breath escaped her lips as she recalled taking it off before mounting her boyfriend.

Scissors still clutched in one hand, Beckett turned to go back to the bed and search the nightstand, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him standing by the foot of the bed, an almost pleasant expression on his face.

"Hello, Detective Beckett," Senator William Bracken greeted in a smooth and casual manner, as if they were old friends. "We meet at last." He held up the simple chain necklace that held her mother's ring. "Are you looking for this?"


	28. Chapter 27

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 27**_

* * *

A single light shone in the center of the dark room. A small group, comprised of seven men and women, sat around a round table, the surface covered in a fine green felt, a card table. This back room was used for illicit gambling. But that's not what was going on here. No. This was a meeting of powerful and influential people, yet none of them were public figures. Throughout time, history had been guided by those behind the scenes, whispering into the king's ear, always out of sight, unobserved, never spoken of, forgotten. They worked in the shadows, unseen, unknown. No one would miss them.

There was one spot open at the table, awaiting the next player. Him.

He would finally sit at the table.

And destroy it.

Kilmer walked up to the open spot and took his seat, keeping his face passive, without a hint of emotion. His eyes scanned the members of the Board, each trying to conceal their fear at his presence, but none succeeding, except one. Opposite him, situated in the shadows, was the Chairman, the only member of the Board whose identity he had yet to confirm. He had his suspicions, but he needed proof.

"You must know this is all highly irregular," spoke a man on his right, well-groomed and distinguished. He spoke with a refined voice of the upper crust gentry. There would be many shocked to learn he was part of such a cabal. "Lazarus had to call in a lot of favors to get you this meeting, Knave."

"That is his concern, not mine," Kilmer asserted in a cold, unsympathetic manner. He folded his hands in front of him. "I'm here to offer you all a choice." He pointedly locked eyes with each member of the Board.

"What kind of choice?" asked an elegant woman in a plain dress.

Kilmer tilted his gaze towards her and assessed her for a long heartbeat. He didn't immediately recognize her at first, but now, upon further review, he did. She was one of those career State Department officials most people didn't even bother with, yet always there, administration after administration. Interesting. And it was obvious from her posture she wasn't here as a proxy or messenger. More interesting.

"A simple one," he answered, keeping the details vague. He folded his hands in front of him as he continued. "Submit or die."

"Bah, you dare threaten us!?" scowled a man puffing on a cigar. Smoke billowed around his wrinkled face, almost obscuring his features.

"Let him speak," a hand from the shadows waved off the grumbling cigar smoking man in a curt dismissal. It was the Chairman. He leaned forward, the lone light illuminating his face.

Interesting, Kilmer thought. It was so obvious. He should have known.

"Speak," the Chairman instructed.

Kilmer nodded. "The Consortium is old," he announced, ignoring the indignant scoffs from the various Board members. "It's crumbling. Petty vendettas have seized hold of many of its once promising stars."

"Ah," the Chairman nodded, stroking his chin. "You speak of Lazarus."

"I do," Kilmer locked eyes with the senior man.

"We only granted this audience at the behest of Lazarus," the cigar smoking man intoned. "You should watch what you say, Knave."

Kilmer didn't even bother to acknowledge the man. "As we speak here," he said, directing his statement to all members of the Board, "Lazarus has embarked on a path that will ultimately lead to a confrontation with Detective Kate Beckett. He has made mistakes. In the past, my services were called upon to clean up those—"

"Which you fail to do!" interrupted the cigar smoking man.

Kilmer pressed on, answering the challenge. "Lazarus has allowed this petty vendetta to consume him. I wasn't properly informed of the situation before going in. I was betrayed. We all were. His actions will expose you. But there's more. You have leaks. I handled two of them in London."

"Kovaks and Pearce," the well-groom man stated.

"Kovaks, I understand," State Department Lady concurred with a nod. "But why Pearce?"

"He was a parasite," Kilmer answered simply. "And like all parasites he needed to be eliminated."

"No!" shouted the cigar smoking man. He pointed an accusatory finger at him. "It is you, Knave, who threatens to expose our organization. It was you who failed to kill this Detective Beckett. It was you who outed Clover to the CIA. You had Johann Kriedt eliminated to seize control of his business. You are the one with the vendetta, the obsession, with this Detective Beckett. You have used Consortium resources in this endeavor, without our consent. You are the parasite, Knave."

Kilmer cocked his head and feigned an innocent expression. "I merely serve."

The cigar smoking man scoffed. "Lies!"

"Enough," the Chairman snapped. The senior man glanced around the table. "The Knave was following my orders with Sir Rhys Pearce. Kovaks betrayed him, so I allowed his death as well." He paused, and waited for the hushed whispers to cease. "There is a cancer, my friends, at the very heart of this body. And it must be dealt with. The Knave is correct. Lazarus's short-sightedness and petty vendetta with Detective Kate Beckett has threatened to expose us. We must act swiftly to ensure our survival."

"What are you suggesting, sir?" State Department Lady inquired.

The Chairman smiled thinly, and leaned back into the shadows. "A purge."

The Board members had little time to register his words before Kilmer was withdrawing his silenced pistol from inside his jacket. With rapid quick movements, he eliminated the cigar smoking man and State Department Lady, along with another one of their colleagues. From behind the Chairman, the Swan emerged and with her own silenced weapon took care of well-groomed man and the other two.

Standing up, Kilmer inclined his head towards the Swan. "Elena."

"Raymond," she greeted, swiftly holstering her weapon. He did the same.

The Chairman stood up and regarded his former Board. "We shall rebuild… under new management. Free of the shackles that held us back. No more petty squabbling. Only action. With one voice."

"Yes," Kilmer agreed, ignoring the buzz of his cellphone, wanting to savor this victory. He'd hatched it after Kovaks betrayed him, knowing that where there was one bad apple there were others. The Chairman had been surprisingly receptive to the scheme. Kilmer had used Sir Rhys Pearce as the go between, hence why the Foreign Secretary needed to die. He knew too much. And, just as Kilmer had told the Board before their demise, Pearce had been a parasite. Like all of them. And parasites needed to be eliminated.

"There's still the matter of Clover," the Chairman asserted, staring hard at Kilmer. "On that matter, my deceased colleagues were correct, Knave. You should not have outed him."

"It was a calculated risk," Kilmer insisted with a shrug.

"That may be," the Chairman acknowledged with a nod, "but our sources say he's currently being transported to a CIA black site for further questioning. I fear he may break under such… methods. If he hasn't decided to save his own skin and cooperate, which is a possibility. He was an outside contractor."

"So was I, once up on a time," Kilmer put in.

"True, but no longer, Knave," the Chairman said. "Gone is the Board, replaced with a monarchy. I shall no longer be Chairman, but Kingmaker. And you my knight." He looked to Elena. "As are you."

The Swan inclined her head in gratitude. Kilmer suppressed his ire at the new 'titles'. This had not been the plan. It was supposed to be a coup d'état, in which he, Raymond Kilmer, became a member of a new Board. But there was nothing for it, at least for now, while the newly named Kingmaker had his attack dog beside him. Elena Markov was not some delicate flower. She was a deadly assassin, her reputation well known amongst those in the community. Her prowess as great, if not equal to his own. She would be no easy kill. No. He decided. It would be best to wait. He was patient. He could play the long game.

"I fear he may be cooperating," the Kingmaker, née Chairman, said. He glanced between them. "As proof of your commitment to the new order, I want you two to handle this together."

Kilmer squinted, disliking partnering up, but did not object.

"What of Lazarus?" Elena asked into the silence.

The Kingmaker waved a hand. "Let him hash out this vendetta with the detective. We care not," he announced, already speaking with the royal 'we'. "He is no longer our concern. What will be, will be. Our plans are always fluid. The Consortium plays the long game." He paused, staring down at the bodies on the table with disgust. "Have Rourke deal with this mess."

XXX

She stood there in shock, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear. He held up the chain necklace again, examining the spinning ring. His smile grew with recognition. His eyes flicked back at her with an amused glint to them.

"This was Johanna's," he stated with an arrogant tone, as if he had the right to say her name.

Her fingers tightened around the scissors, hand obscured somewhat against her bare thigh. "Give it back!" Beckett barked, but before she could move, the cold barrel of a gun was pressed against her spine.

"Don't even think about it," a man with a heavy Eastern European accent spoke against her throat, his breath smelling of tobacco. Fuck. She hadn't checked her six. He must have been positioned against the wall, out of her line of sight.

Another man stepped around from behind Bracken. He raised his weapon at her, eyes flicking down to her right hand and the scissors she still clutched.

"Drop the scissors," he instructed, also with an Eastern European accent, but less pronounced, with better command of English wording.

Clenching her jaw, Beckett stared hard at Bracken, yet yielded, releasing her death grip on the scissors and letting them fall from her palm. Bracken nodded. He held up the necklace again, staring at the ring.

"Such a little thing," he commented. "Yet it holds so much value."

And then, as if tossing out a disused napkin, he casually flung it over his shoulder, not even bothering to check where it landed. Beckett bristled at that, but the cold press of the gun on her spine held her back. The other man moved closer, keeping his gun raised and aimed.

Bracken smirked as he glanced over at the rumpled bed, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His delighted smile sickened her. He turned back at her and grinned in that pleasant manner all seasoned politicians had mastered.

"Nice to see the present dangers you face haven't diminished your sex drive," he stated with a light chuckle. "Bravo, Detective." He took the chance to glance at her long bare legs, raising his eyebrows appreciatingly. He hummed approvingly at what he saw. "Rick Castle is a lucky man." He stepped close to her, reaching up with a hand and brushing his fingers along the side of her face. "I can see why he'd be willing to risk so much for something so beautiful."

She grimaced and shuddered in revulsion, jerking her head back. "Don't touch me!" she spat out, disgusted. The man behind Beckett pressed the gun harder into her spine, and reached up to grip her shoulder, holding her in place.

Bracken laughed and paced away, holding up his hand in a feigned apology. He glanced around the squalor and then back at her, his eyes still shining with that amused glint. "Still, my dear, you could have selected a better place to waste time and fuck around."

Beckett growled, but refused to rise to the bait as he belittled the intimacy she shared with Castle. Being with her boyfriend, now of all times, had rejuvenated her, reminded her of why she fought so hard to truth and justice. A life with Rick Castle was a future worth fighting for.

Standing by the bed, Bracken shook his head, and narrowed his gaze, his eyes becoming hard and cold. "I had an agreement with your boyfriend," he said, speaking slow and succinctly. "A truce. Live and let live. I held up to my end of the bargain… I let you be. I even saved your life."

"Only so you could void the deal," Beckett answered, glaring at him defiantly.

Bracken stared at her for a long beat and shook his head, making _tsk-tsk_ noises. "The deal was void from since the beginning, Detective," he asserted. "Your boyfriend was bluffing. I knew it from the start. Yet I still agreed."

"Bullshit."

He flashed his teeth in a mocking smile. "No, no, Detective, it's the truth. Why would I lie?" he gestured, holding both his hands to his chest, as if playing to a crowd. "What would I gain from further entanglements. All you had to do was let it go. That's all you had to do." He paused for a breath and offered her a look of faux sympathy. "Your mother's death was a tragedy. And I am deeply sorry for your loss. She was a good woman. I liked her."

Glowering, she turned her head, refusing to even look at him.

He sighed, and took one step closer. "When I was 14, I got to be friends with this boy in the neighborhood. Lamar Dochs. Sweet kid. I used to help him with his homework after school. Well, one day he doesn't come to school. So I went by his apartment and the door was open. I walked in and I found Lamar lying on his mattress, dead. His little sister the same way, his mother, who's in the bedroom, she had hanged herself. Now, she left a note; she lost her job, she was being evicted, and I thought, how could a woman be so desperate, so without hope, that she could crush up pills, put them in hot chocolate, and give them to her kids?" He paused, letting that question hang between them. "And that was the moment. The moment I knew I wanted to help make people's lives better. And I have. I strengthened the safety net to protect kids like Lamar. I created jobs in those neighborhoods. I've done great things. Great things. Just think of what other great things I could accomplish as president of the United States."

Beckett slowly raised her eyes back up to meet his. "Who do you think you're talking to!?" she questioned, righteous indignation rising in her chest. "How can you justify yourself to me? My mother was stabbed, in an alley, because of you. She bled to death, alone, in a pile of garbage, so save me your campaign speeches about the _great things_!"

Bracken shook his head, glancing at her with a pitying look. "You sound a bit delusional, you know? But then again, who are you? You're a disgraced cop obsessed with her mother's murder. And who am I? I'm a decent man looking out for the little guy. That's who the public sees. And every time they elect me, I'm humbled. I strive harder to live up to that ideal, I want to be that man. And I won't let you or anyone else get in my way."

He sighed, putting out a sad face. "All you had to do was leave it alone. Let it be. You knew the truth. That should have been enough. But you just kept digging on the sly, with your boyfriend's aide. I was willing to let it slide, I was," he insisted upon her disbelieving look. "But you refuse to think about the bigger picture, about what great things that I—_we_—could do for this country. I could have let you die, Detective. I could have allowed Vulcan Simmons to have you killed. But no. I saved your life."

"And that makes up for what you took from me?" Beckett asked, glaring up at him with all the loathing she could muster.

"What about what I gave you?" he asked, raising his hand theatrically. "Everything you are, everything you've accomplished, is because of me."

She shook her head, scowling with disgust. "Is that how you justify murder?" She nearly scoffed. "It builds character?" Pausing, she narrowed her eyes at him, challenging. "Then why don't you give me a chance to build yours?"

"You had a future," Bracken persisted. His calm façade falling away as his frustration started to show. "Why couldn't you just let this go and move on, so I could do the same?" He stared down at her, waiting for her to respond, but she had nothing to say to him. He sighed, and backed away, dropping his hands down to his side as he spun back around with a half smirk. "I guess there's no point in asking for your vote, is there?"

"You're not going to be on the ballot," Beckett asserted, finding a boost of confidence, not at all intimidated by him or his goons. "A presidential campaign financed by drug money with a trail of dead bodies? There's no hole big enough to bury all of that."

Bracken cocked his head at her and smiled, seeming delighted with her little speech. "I've gotta tell you, part of me really admires your moral certitude," he said. "The way you fight for what you believe in, even knowing it's going to destroy you." He stalked toward her, his greater height letting him tower over her. The smile dropped away, and he stared down at her with a grim expression. "But the part of me that admires you is not the part that makes the tough decisions."

Beckett clenched her jaw and glared back up at him, letting her hate roll off her. She bared her teeth. "Fine," she barked. "Then kill me. Do it. Pull the trigger."

He glanced at her with a soft, sorrowful look, as if he could even empathize with her. "I have people for that," he answered in an almost apologetic tone.

"I don't want them," she stated in a quiet voice, furnished with resolve and an unwillingness to concede. "I want you. Do it. Now. Or don't you have the balls?"

Bracken squinted his eyes at her and smiled ever so slightly. "And create physical evidence linking me to the crime scene?" he shook his head, disappointed. "We both know I'm smarter than that." He sighed, deep and sorrowful, reaching up to touch her face one more time. "You're really quite beautiful. Such a pity." She tensed as he caressed the side of her face like a trusted and loving guardian. "Goodbye, Kate."

She pursed her lips and swallowed, nostrils flaring as she watched him walk away, turning his back to her, like the coward he was.

"The truth is going to come out!" she called after him, resisting the pull of what seemed like inevitable defeat.

He stopped, shoulders tensing, as he turned back around and cast a sad gaze back at her. Bracken shook his head as if he felt sorry for her. "There is no truth. Not anymore." He turned to the man with the better English. "Dekker," he called, and the man backed up slowly, keeping his eyes and gun locked on Beckett.

"Sir?"

"Take care of her," Bracken instructed, flicking his eyes over to her, again with that mask of sorrow. She glared back at him, defiant to the end. He sighed and turned back to Dekker. "I've gotta go to DC. Just… take care of this."

"Yes, sir," Dekker bobbed his head, retreating back to open the door for his master. The other man pressed his gun harder against Beckett's back, and tightened his grip on her shoulder, keeping her still.

After one last look at her, Bracken ducked out of the filthy motel room, leaving her alone with his thugs.

Dekker turned back and narrowed his eyes, holstering his weapon. He stalked towards her, digging around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. Slowly as he approach, Dekker held up a small white pill in his hand. His eyes met hers, and he smiled menacingly. Beckett seized the opportunity to move. She jabbed her elbow back into the man behind her, knocking the air out of his lungs. He staggered back as she followed up with a swift strike forward, punching Dekker in the face. He groaned and dropped the pill.

However, her victory was short lived. The other man had recovered quickly, and grappled her from behind, wrapping one big arm around her neck in a choke hold. She reached up to claw at his arm, but to no prevail. He was too strong. He hauled her into his broad chest, and hissed into her ear, using his other arm to secure her arms to her side, leaving her immobile.

"No," she gasped for air, finding it difficult to breathe.

"Sergio!" Dekker grunted, bending down to pick up the pill. "Open her mouth."

Beckett struggled, bucking back trying to free herself from Sergio's fierce grip, but all her attempts were futile. The brute worked one of his hands around to grip her face. His fingers dug into her cheeks, trying to force her to obey. She resisted, clenching her jaw, refusing to open her mouth.

Dekker snarled, curling his free hand into a fist. He pounded her in the gut. Once. Twice.

Her body rocked with the pain, and Beckett couldn't prevent her lips from parting in a pained gasp. It was all the man needed. He violently pulled her jaws apart and shoved the pill down her throat, clamping his hand over her mouth until she was forced to swallow.

No. No. No.

XXX

Castle let out a muffled curse, shaking his head as he stalked down the sidewalk. The one fault with using such a cheap motel to lay low was that all the cars parked in the slots were low end automobiles. Most of them were decades old, manufactured before company's started outfitting cars with smart systems. His TCD-74 was capable of unlocking most cars from the early 2000s and mid-1990s, but beyond that, he'd need to do things the old fashion way, which he could. But that way would draw more attention than he wanted.

Stalking down the street, he needed to go several blocks until he spotted a car parked between a dirty pickup truck and a hideous gold Honda van from the 1980s. He always chuckled when he saw which car turned out to be compatible. So predictable. Pulling his TCD-74 out of his pocket, he flipped the phone open and strolled over to the silver Ford Taurus, pressing the appropriate buttons to start the hack. The small screen flashed and a spinning circle appeared, telling him it was working it's magic. In a matter of seconds, the smart locks on the Ford Taurus were clunking free.

Suppressing a smirk, Castle glanced around, before jogging across the street to open the driver's side door. He slipped into the vehicle and held the flip phone up near the ignition point. After another second there was an electronic buzz and the engine roared to life. The car radio whirled to life at the same time. 'Take On Me' by A-Ha blared out of the embedded car speakers. Castle quickly reached over and turn the dial, lowering the volume.

Shifting the automatic transmission out of park, Castle pressed his foot against the pedal and nudged the car out into the street, keeping the headlights off until he'd fully pulled away from the curb. He drove down the street to the next light and made a U-turn at the intersection, heading back for the motel. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he went along, humming and singing along to the catchy 1980s beat, his mind drifting back to the prior few hours spent alone with Beckett in the rundown motel room and the amazing sex. She'd been insatiable, demanding and determined. God, he loved her.

Activating the signal, Castle slowed his speed and turned into the motel parking lot, steering the car around until he found a slot that was secluded enough to allow them some cover when they left in the morning. He sat there for a while, letting the engine idle as he let the song wind up, before leaning forward and shutting the radio. He checked the gas gauge, and nodded to himself, calculating they'd have enough to make it out of the city without stopping. With one flick of his wrist and a depress of the zero and pound button on his flip phone, he killed the engine.

He should get back to Kate.

Opening the door, he climbed out and used the TCD-74 to activate the automatic locks.

Castle had barely taken two steps before he heard the familiar clock of a gun.

XXX

Her mind was fuzzy. She couldn't keep her head up straight. It was difficult to focus. Narrowing her eyes, she squinted, failing to glare at her captors. Tilting her head lazily to the right, Beckett stared up at Dekker and Sergio. Oh. She was no longer in a choke hold. She wanted to fight back, jump at them, but her legs wouldn't move. Leaning back against the chair, she parted her lips and let out a long sigh.

"What… what was in that pill?" Beckett slurred out, barely managing to form a frown.

Dekker glanced at Sergio and nodded, smiling. He stepped over to a black backpack and knelt down to retrieve something from within. She narrowed her eyes, trying to pay attention. When he stood back up, he was holding a bottle of whiskey. He grinned at her.

"Something to relax you," he announced, unscrewing the lid. "Now we're going to take a little drink."

Dekker bobbed his head and Sergio stepped forward, forcing her mouth open again. She tried to protest, but her body wouldn't respond to her commands. Dekker chuckled, pouring a good amount down her throat. Beckett tried not to swallow, but her muscles were so relaxed, the liquid went down without a fight. She sputtered and coughed as some of the whiskey dribbled down her chin.

It went on like that for a while, she couldn't tell how long. Her concept of time was distorted by whatever it was they'd drugged her with. She was helpless to resist as Dekker poured more and more of the burning liquor down her throat. Her mouth felt dry despite the amount of whiskey she'd unwillingly consumed. Her throat burned. She tried to turn her head away when Dekker brought the bottle back to her lips, but was sluggish and uneven.

"She's wasted," Sergio laughed, looming at her side, eying her bare legs with appreciation. "The boss didn't say she was such a looker." He pawed at her with his large hand, smoothing his palm up her thigh. "Maybe we have some fun before we kill her."

Dekker snarled. "None of that!" he said, swatting the other man away. "We have our orders, and if we don't follow them, he'd skin us alive. No one crosses the Knave."

Sergio straightened and pulled his hand from her thigh like it had been burn. The fear in his eyes was very real.

"Get her gun," Dekker ordered.  
Sergio nodded and stepped away, hunting around the bed as he pulled on some black gloves. Dekker moved back in with the bottle, tipping some more whiskey down her throat. She couldn't resist anymore, unable to prevent the instinct to swallow. She grimaced as the alcohol burned down her esophagus. Sergio returned with the Beretta that Castle had given her when they'd met up in the park.

"Relax, Detective," Dekker asserted with a grin. "It's almost over."


	29. Chapter 28

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 28**_

* * *

"Don't move."

There was an accent to the voice, it was slight, barely detectable, but with his extensive training and years of field experience, Castle was able to catch the Croatian speech patterns masked by the man's impeccable English.

"Hands up."

Castle did as he was told, not wanting to provoke his attacker.

"Turn. Slow."

Castle did so, keeping his hands up, palms front. He narrowed his eyes at the brownish gray haired man, recognizing him from intelligence briefings at the Bunker. Rajko Kápa. He was Kilmer's right-hand man, having previously served in a similar position for Johann Kriedt. Castle cocked his head to the side as Rajko cautiously approached him, gun raised at the ready, a snub nosed cylinder extending out from the barrel. A silencer.

"You came prepared," Castle stated with a nod, unable to stifle the growing smirk.

Rajko's brow furrowed as he stared at him, tilting his head slightly, no doubt baffled by Castle's cavalier attitude. He took a tentative step closer, rightfully wary. Castle didn't know much about this man, only that he handled more of the business side of the arms dealing organization that Kilmer had seized control of over the summer. There was nothing much in the CIA files about his combat capabilities. Rajko was considered more of a manager than muscle. However, judging from his stance, and the way he held the silenced Glock in his hand, Castle suspected the man was competent enough.

"This is all about revenge," Castle said, deciding to use his mouth to stall. He liked talking. He was good a talking. "There's no real master plan."

Rajko squinted at him with intelligent eyes. He was no mindless drone. "That's what you think," he asserted. "There's more going on than you know." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket with his free hand, never once looking away, his aim unwavering, and retrieved a cellphone.

"Bracken's going to fail," Castle said, deadly serious, staring straight into his opponent's eyes. "And when that happens, Kilmer's next."

"You won't be able to stop him," Rajko insisted with a flash of teeth as he slid his thumb over the phone, glancing down ever so briefly to punch in a number. Castle knew without a doubt he was calling Kilmer. Holding up the cell to his ear, Rajko narrowed his eyes at Castle. "The wheels are already in motion. The Knave will triumph. It is inevitable."

"Perhaps," he conceded with a slight incline of his head. "Perhaps not."

And then he struck. Castle launched himself forward, shoving Rajko's hand down as he pulled the trigger, sending the bullet ricocheting off the asphalt. Startled at first, Rajko jerked back, but not before Castle could knock the gun from his hand. And with a swift kick of his foot, he sent the Glock flying across the parking lot, where it clattered to a stop underneath a car, out of reach.

Growling, Rajko threw a fist forward as Castle raised his arm to block and deflect. He clenched his hand and rammed a hit into the man's right side, around his kidneys. The cellphone fell from his hand as Rajko groaned and fumbled back, but pressed on, undeterred. They danced around one another for several seconds, trading jabs. Castle managed to deflect most of the blows, but some got through. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as the younger man's fist jammed into his stomach.

Sputtering, Castle fought back, but Rajko deflected his right jab, and countered with a powerful punch to the chest, causing Castle to stagger back, hitting the side of the silver Ford Taurus. Rajko struck out at him again, but Castle dodged, and the man's fist jammed into the side of the car. Letting out a cry of pain, Rajko cradled his fist to his chest as Castle used the opening to strike. He punched up, hitting the man in the solar plexus. Using his disorientation to his advantage, Castle flew in fast with several more strikes to his side and face.

Rajko tripped backward and nearly fell, rolling right into the side of another vehicle. He shook his head, recovering from his discombobulation, and struck back out. Castle raised an arm to deflect, but Rajko swept it aside with his right arm while jabbing at Castle with his left fist, striking a series of blows to Castle's side and shoulder. Sucking in a sharp breath, Castle shook his head, and when his attacker came in for another assault, he was ready.

They grappled with each other, spinning back and forth between the two cars, bouncing off them with echoing clangs as they impacted the bodies of each vehicle. Castle got in a few jabs along the way, as did Rajko. Though the other man was younger, Castle could tell he was tiring. He wasn't used to prolong combat, as Castle was. But his adversary's youth did provide him a little extra energy.

Trying for another approach, Castle darted in fast, grabbing Rajko by the shoulder and, using his momentum, hurled him hard against the nearest car, ramming his head down hard into the framework around the rear trunk. A resounding bang reverberated into the night, and his opponent let out a string of Croatian curses. Backing up, Rajko reached up and touched his face, grimacing. Blood trickled down where his nose had been broken.

Castle raised a hand and gestured for him to come at him.

Rajko let out a roar and charged forward, fists swinging. His attack was ferocious, anger and pain fueling his rage. Castle got clocked in the jaw and stumbled back, caught by surprised at the speed of the assault. Rajko flung a boot out, catching Castle's bad knee and it gave out under him, causing him to drop to one knee with a grunt. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it out. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck as he raised his hand to fend off the next blow.

From his kneeling position, Castle saw an opening. It was a low blow, but in a fight like this, there were no rules. When Rajko swung at him again, Castle ducked his head down, only to then come up with a quick punch to the other man's groin. He had the decency to grimace, though, when Rajko winced and yelped, reaching for his crotch. Huffing out a breath, Castle pushed up to a standing position and used the opportunity to wrap his arms around Rajko's neck in a headlock. He struggled, but Castle held firm, squeezing ever so slightly.

"It's over," he whispered in a calming voice. "Let go. Just… let go."

Rajko fought him, jerking back, swinging his arms, bucking and twisting in Castle's strong hold. Grunting, Castle put more pressure on his opponent's windpipe, willing the other man to lose consciousness. Rajko just wouldn't surrender. He battled on, elbowing Castle in the ribs. The blow caused Castle to involuntarily jerk and twist his arms almost violently in response. There was a soft cracking noise, like a carrot snapping in two, and Rajko went limp.

"Ah, shit," Castle grumbled, relaxing his hold and letting the body drop to the asphalt with an unceremonious thud. He hadn't meant to kill him. Rajko Kápa would have been more valuable alive than dead. Why did he have to struggle so much? All he had to do was submit to the lack of oxygen and slip into unconsciousness.

Stepping back, Castle shook his head, and let loose a string of curses. Raking his fingers through his hair, he fished his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He started to dial, but then stopped. No. What was he doing? He couldn't call in a cleanup crew. That was standard procedure when something like this happened on U.S. soil, but they were on the run. He didn't know who he could trust. And he couldn't risk their location being leaked.

His head snapped up as a sudden realization struck.

_Kate!_  
If Rajko was here, that meant Kilmer probably knew where they were, which meant Bracken probably knew as well. And if Bracken knew where they were… that meant Kate was in danger!

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Castle abandoned the body of Rajko Kápa, and raced through the parking lot, heading for the stairs, willing his legs to propel him with all haste to their motel room before anything bad happened.

XXX

She was drunk, her mind fuzzy from both the alcohol and whatever was in the drugs Dekker had shoved down her throat, but she still had enough willpower left to stare up defiantly at her would-be killers. Beckett was determined not to go down without a fight. Dekker responded to her glare with an amused smirk, holding up the bottle by its neck as he stepped back over to her.

"Let's have a little more," he suggested, nudging her head back as he forced more of the liquid down her throat.

Sergio approached from behind, checking the magazine of the Beretta. Satisfied with what he saw, he slid the mag back into place, readying the weapon.

Beckett sputtered and coughed as Dekker pulled the bottle away. He grinned at her, holding the bottle up and shaking it in front of her, splattering her shirt and bare legs with the whiskey. Even in her sluggish state, she knew what he was doing. They were going to make it look like she got drunk in this trashy motel before eating a bullet. Her guilt would be assumed, and Internal Affairs would close the case. She couldn't allow that.

Dekker accepted the gun from Sergio and narrowed his eyes as he examined it, turning it around in his gloved hands. "This isn't your piece, Detective," he noted. "Your boytoy gave it to you, didn't he?"

"Is that a problem?" asked Sergio, standing by her right shoulder, eyebrows knitting with worry.

"Nah," Dekker asserted with a shake of his head. "It should have her prints on it already, so it doesn't matter." He jerked his chin down. "Hold her."

Sergio grinned, sliding his large palms over the curve of her shoulders, gripping her hard. Dekker crouched down and stared into her impassive face. She wanted so much to spit at him, but whatever was in the pill they'd forced her to swallow, combined with the whiskey, was making her sluggish. Dekker grabbed her limp hand and fit the gun into her grasp.

"Open her mouth," he ordered.

Sergio moved one hand to her jaw, gripped it hard and tugged it down while Dekker worked at wedging her finger against the trigger. She attempted to resist, on both fronts, but failed. Sergio yanked her jaw open, and Dekker nodded approvingly.

"Good," he murmured, aligning the barrel with her gaping mouth. His eyes flicked up to lock with hers, and he grinned as she simply blinked lazily, only vaguely aware of what was transpiring. "It's been nice, Detective." His lips then pressed into a thin line as he squeezed his hand over hers, helping her pull the trigger.

NO!

Her eyes jolted open, adrenaline pumping into her veins. Nostrils flaring, she wrenched her hand out of Dekker's grasp just as the gun went off, altering the aim just enough so that the bullet only grazed her temple, causing a searing sting to slice through her body, which also served to make her more alert. Sergio's hold on her slackened as he was hit in the left arm. He staggered back, letting out a string of Slavic curses.

Feeling empowered, Beckett turned the gun around, but before she could fire at Dekker, the thug was knocking it out of her hand. Growling, she gritted her teeth and flicked her foot up, kicking him in the face. He let out a startled groan and fell backwards. With the time offered, Beckett seized the opportunity and stretched out, reaching for the gun. Curling her fingers around the handle, she swung up onto her slightly wobbly legs and pulled the trigger just as Dekker was launching at her for another attack.

BANG!

She hit Dekker right in the chest. One shot. He collapsed with a resounding thud. Dead.

Beckett swayed slightly on her unsteady legs, her head spinning from the sudden shift in altitude. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, unable to revel in her victory, knowing she had one more opponent left. Sergio, though injured, was still on his feet. She heard a low growl behind her, but didn't have time to react. He slammed her over the head with the whiskey bottle.

Pain shot through her body, and she fumbled forward, nearly tripping over Dekker's body. Feeling dizzy, but still conscious, she had enough awareness to torque her torso around and let out a series of shots towards Sergio. His right shoulder jerked violently when the bullet struck, but he only slowed in his charge. Gritting her teeth, Beckett let out a scream as she squeezed the trigger again and again, sending bullet after bullet into his thick form.

After two more bullets burst into his chest, he fell, dead. Unwilling to trust it, Beckett staggered over and aimed at his head. She pursed her lips and breathed through her nose as she squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet straight between his eyes, just to make sure.

With both of Bracken's thugs dead, Beckett swayed dangerously in place as she assessed her situation. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she reached up to probe the bruise along the top of her head, feeling bits of glass stuck in her scalp. She grimaced with a hiss, feeling something slick, wet, and warm. Pulling her hand back, she saw blood on her fingertips. Staggering back, she dropped the gun. With the fight over, the adrenaline started to fade. Her vision started to blur, and she shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly, trying to stay awake.

"Castle," she called out, slurred and desperate.

Beckett tried to make it for the bed, but didn't make it that far before her knees gave out and she collapsed, bracing her hand along the wall, smearing blood along the cracked and frayed wallpaper. Her eyes rolled back into her skull as she started to lose consciousness. Everything seemed to get dark. She let out a wheezing breath, slumping against the wall as her eyes started to close. Her last thought, before the darkness took her, was of Castle.

XXX

She rapped her knuckles against the doorjamb. "May I come in?"

Agent McCord glanced up, and pressed her lips into a thin smile. "It's your precinct," she answered with a nod, allowing some of her humor to seep through.

Gates returned the smile and sauntered in, casually crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced back through the blinds towards the conference room. "It was, yes," she said sourly, before turning her attention to the laptop McCord was working on. She narrowed her eyes as she examined the screen. "Taking another look at the financial records of _Future Forward_?"

"Yes," McCord hedged, eyeing her warily. "I'm certain there's something here."

"I concur," Gates inclined her head. "Money tells more than some people think."

"Like Captain Donovan?"

"Exactly," Gates said. "He's change, Agent McCord. I barely recognize him. That man—" she gestured towards him "—isn't the same man who served under me at Internal Affairs."

McCord knitted her eyebrows together. "Sometimes people change when we aren't watching," she commented.

Gates glanced back at her, sensing she spoke from experience, but before she could inquire further, she noticed Donovan answering his cell and speaking animatedly with the caller. Her cop instincts kicked up a notch, and she tapped McCord's shoulder. The other woman glanced up from the laptop, a questioning look furrowing her brow.

"Something's happening," Gates pointed out.

Donovan hung up, his features blank for a few seconds, then he narrowed his eyes in a determined expression and shoved open the conference room door.

"We've got a possible location on our fugitive!" he shouted. "Rankin, Chapman… with me!"

Two of his IAB men jumped up to follow him as he stalked towards the elevators.

"Agent McCord, if you please," Gates asked, knowing Donovan couldn't refuse the Federal agents as he could her and her detectives.

McCord nodded, she snapped her fingers to gain her partner's attention. Hendricks jerked his head up, and raised his eyebrows. McCord indicated the IAB team gearing up. Hendricks nodded, understanding. He stood and told one of the other agents to take over before hurriedly following McCord as she strolled out into the bullpen. The senior FBI agent was projecting all her command and authority that the Attorney General of the United States granted her under the special task force he'd created. Gates watched with a secret smile, privately enjoying the disgruntled look that passed over Donovan's face when he realized the two FBI agents would be coming along.

Stepping back out into the bullpen, Gates gestured towards Detectives Ryan and Esposito. They stood and abandoned their tasks, joining her by the entrance to the lounge.

"Captain?" Esposito questioned.

She regarded them for a cool minute. "You two wouldn't mind clocking in some overtime, would you? Mind, we might need to pull an all-nighter."

Ryan smiled that boyish smile of his, and Esposito puffed out his chest.

"Will it help Beckett?" Ryan asked.

Gates nodded.

"Then Jenny will understand."  
Esposito offered his partner a supportive pat on the shoulder, and then locked eyes with their captain. "What can we do, sir?"

Gates gestured towards the laptop McCord had left behind, still logged into the Federal database. She suppressed a smile. She thought she'd had the agent pegged. It was nice to be surprised. "We have some work to do," she announced to her detectives. "We're going to be doing some digging. We need to see just where all this money went, and to whom, if we can. And yes, hopefully this will help Detective Beckett."

Esposito exchanged a look with his partner before inclined his head and cracking he knuckles. "Then we're in."

XXX

He rested his palm on the holstered butt of his Sig Sauer as he approached the door to their motel room. Glancing about, he kept his eyes alert for any sign of movement. There had to be more men about than just Rajko Kápa. Inhaling a deep breath, he tried to calm the pounding of his heart, cool his nerves and prepare for whatever awaited him. As he approached, Castle noticed that the door was slightly ajar, the pale light from within leaking out into the dirty hallway.

Steeling his nerves, Castle quietly withdrew his Sig Sauer and flicked the safety off. He held it low at his side and stepped cautiously towards the door. Holding his breath, he craned his neck and peeked through the small gap between door and jamb. His eyes grew wide and his heartrate kicked up a notch when he saw the outline of a body lying on the floor.

Raising his weapon, he kicked the door open and charged in, gun held high, ready to fire. His teeth gritted together as he let out a hissing curse when he saw two dead bodies, both male. One had been shot in the chest and the other had been shot multiple times. He paced over to the first body and rolled him over, studying the face. Castle couldn't place him, but judging from his look, he was Eastern European, so it was safe to assume he'd arrived with Rajko.

Jerking his head up, Castle glanced around for Beckett. His heart thumped wildly beneath his ribcage. There was no sign of her. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, hard, already starting to devise a means of revenge against Kilmer or Bracken… or both. If they'd harmed her… Heaven help him, he didn't know what he'd do. But they would both be dead.

"Castle?"  
His head jerked up at the sound of his name.

"Kate!?"

"Castle…"

Her voice was weak and slurred. Pushing back up to his feet, Castle stalked around the end of the bed and found her slumped against the grimy wall, blood smeared in a path behind her. Her hand was pressed to her head, hair matted and dark.

"Kate!" he quickly holstered his weapon and crouched down beside her, reaching out to smooth his fingers down her lovely face, needing to touch her to know she was alive.

Her eyes fluttered open for a second or two, but her vision was unfocused. She tried to say something, but was fading fast. He pressed a gentle hand to her lips.

"Take it easy," he shushed her. "Conserve your strength. I've got you, Kate. I've got you."

She managed a weak nod, before closing her eyes.

Leaning back, Castle bared his teeth. His hands shook with rage as he turned back and glared at the dead men lying on the floor. He then looked back at her, and sighed. She'd fought hard, saved herself. That was his girl. She was a fighter. Pride swelled in his chest, but it was dampened by the state he'd found her in. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her up, placing her on the bed. She groaned slightly at the movement. He bent over her, tenderly caressing her side and soothing her with quiet words. The tension in her body relaxed and she slipped back under.

Remaining bent over her, he carefully lifted her eyelids with his thumb, confirming a hunch. She'd been drugged. Nostrils flaring, he smelled the scent of whiskey on her steady breath. Her shirt was also soaked with liquor. Arching his neck over his shoulder, he spotted the shattered glass of a bottle. Looking back over the dead men, and then back at Beckett, he surmised their intention. Letting out another sigh, he scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling guilt rack his insides. He should have been there to protect her.

Shaking his head, Castle chastised himself for dwelling on things that could not be changed. Beckett was alive. That was all that mattered. He set to work gathering her remaining clothing, and dressed her. It was more difficult than he'd expected. He had plenty of experience taking her clothes off, but none of putting them on.

Firstly, he removed her wet shirt, pausing to check for signs of injury. He pressed his hands along her ribs, and was satisfied no damage had been down. Her skin remained flawless, save the surgical scar alongside her side underneath her breast and the pucker mark in the center of her chest. Heaving in a deep breath, Castle dipped his head down and pressed a reverent kiss over her heart, grateful to whatever high power had watched over her.

Replacing her shirt with a clean one he'd bought at the Walgreens when he'd picked up other supplies, Castle set to work dressing his unconscious girlfriend. He slipped her long, lean legs into her jeans, and tugged them up, needing to lift her bottom off the mattress to get them up and over her hips, then zipped and buttoned, securing them around her slim waist. He worked her feet into her sneakers, tied the laces, and then stood up to find her sweater. Finished, he gathered the rest of their supplies, hooking the bag handles through one arm.

Bending over her limp form, Castle pressed a kiss to her lips and brushed his hand down the side of her face.

"I've got you, Kate," he murmured softly into her ear. "I've got you."

He kissed her lips once more, sighing with relief when he received a sluggish response and a soft mutter of his name. Closing his eyes, he buried his face into her hair and breathed in the scent of her.

"I'm going to take you someplace safe," he declared, fighting back the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. "Someplace far from here."

Hoisting her up in his arms, Castle bent her frame over his broad shoulder and stood, letting out a mild curse, swearing that the next time he carried Beckett through a doorway, it would be under better circumstances.


	30. Chapter 29

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 29**_

* * *

The headlights shone out into the highway as a light drizzle started to fall. It was late, but there was still enough traffic on the road to cause some delays in getting off Long Island. They'd stopped in Yonkers for a late dinner, a Kentucky Fried Chicken off of Nepperhan Avenue, getting a 12 piece bucket for Piotr alone. The big man ate a lot and was thrilled with the opportunity to try some American fast food, especially of the fried variety. Piotr had the nearly demolished bucket tucked into his side upfront as he drove with one hand, easily maneuvering their way through the other vehicles, ensuring they kept good time to their target destination.

Kilmer glanced at Elena Markov as she nibbled lightly on a drumstick, a frown marring her beautiful features. Her eyes were cold and deadly, and she simply looked back at him, not challenging, but with the polite deference of a fellow professional. An ally. Now. He had not been expecting it, but the Chairman—Kingmaker, as he wanted to be called now—hadn't read him into that part of the scheme. He should have suspected it though. The Swan was one of the best assets the Consortium had. It only made sense that she would continue to serve after the restructuring.

His cellphone trilled and, setting aside his meal, Kilmer dug the device out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Rajko. About time. He was starting to get frustrated.

"Report," he answered.

Narrowing his eyes, he scowled, hearing no response, only a clatter and the muffled sounds of hand to hand combat. And then the line went dead. Holding the phone back, he looked down to check that the call had been disconnected. Odd. He mulled over the puzzle for a minute or two, before coming to the conclusion he wouldn't be seeing Rajko Kápa again. A shame, really. He had grown quite fond of the man. Oh well.

"Approaching White Plains," Piotr announced, wiping at his mouth with a big meaty hand.

"Good," Elena declared, dumping the half eaten drumstick into a bag. She wiped her hands off with a paper napkin, and then pulled her phone out, checking the encrypted text she'd received not long after they'd left the Kingmaker at Finn Rourke's pub. "Head for the Kensico Reservoir. CIA is holding Clover there."

Kilmer cocked his head as he looked at her. "Impressive."

"I have my sources," she smiled back, stowing her phone back into her pocket. She jerked her head towards the rear storage compartment behind their seats. "We'll be able to use him to get into the facility, yes?"

Nodding, Kilmer arched his neck and glanced over the headrest at the bound and gagged Gavin Huxley, unconscious and secured to the floor bed of the storage area.

"Yes, he will," Kilmer answered with a thin smile. "And then his use will be at an end."

"Indeed," Elena replied with a raised eyebrow. "I assume you have a plan."

"I do," Kilmer said.

"Care to share?"

He feigned consideration. "Not yet."

She pursed her lips and gave him a bemused smile. "I thought so. Just remember, we both serve the Kingmaker. We're his knights."

Kilmer clenched his jaw. That had not been part of the agreement he'd made with the Chairman. As he glanced over at Elena Markov, he started to formulate ways in which he could later rectify that error.

XXX

She'd finished her study of the body out in the parking lot, and had left the surly medical examiner to his task. Having worked the Johann Kriedt case for many years, Agent McCord had immediately recognized Rajko Kápa. The man had been one of Johann Kriedt's top lieutenants, so it made her suspicious to see him here in New York, especially linked to a location where Detective Beckett had been rumored to be. She was now more sure than ever that the detective was being framed. Something much bigger was going on, and she didn't like being left out of the loop.

Reorientating her thoughts, McCord stepped into the grungy motel room, squinting her eyes as she glanced over at the CSU techs crouching over the bodies with cameras, the lights flashing as they took photos. Donovan was standing off to the side, arms crossed, his features set in a displeased scowl. She pursed her lips, and waited, taking the time to properly observe the whole scene with her own eyes before speaking with the captain of Internal Affairs.

According to IAB, this was where Beckett had supposedly hidden once the fugitive alert had been sent out on the airwaves.

It wasn't pretty.

The room was dirty and filthy. The wallpaper was cracked and peeling, and the rug covering the floor had stains that looked to be as old as the Nixon Administration. The bed was a mess, obviously used. The faint scent of booze and sex lingered in the air. For a place that rented out rooms by the hour and only took cash, such a discovery wasn't all to shocking. The tousled bedsheets, which had once been white, were now a pale yellow. Glancing away from the rumpled bed, McCord noticed that one wall had a long smear of blood. A recent addition to the lovely décor.

McCord stifled a shudder, wondering how Detective Beckett could even consider having sex in such an unsanitary place. She'd thought better of the woman. It was a disappointment. And a waste of time and energy. Instead of getting her rocks off with her admittedly attractive CIA boyfriend, Beckett should have spent her time and energy formulating a plan to clear her name. Shaking her head, McCord stepped over to join Hendricks.

"Two DBs," he stated the obvious, as was his habit. "Both male. Identities unknown."

"Mercenaries," she surmised, arching her brow as she scrutinized the dead bodies.

Hendricks nodded. "My guess, too."

McCord glanced up at Donovan, who was now speaking with one of his IAB detectives, looking aggravated. He paced away with a frown.

"She's killed again," he asserted, walking around the dead bodies to join them.

"What makes you say that?" McCord inquired, interested in hearing his twisted logic. "CSU has barely started any evidence collection."

He offered her a flat stare. "Really?" he scoffed. "Please don't tell me you're buying into the BS story that she's being framed. She's obviously guilty. Instead of sitting down and talking with us, she chose to run. And in my experience, only the guilty run."

"Perhaps," McCord indulged, though had numerous disagreements with that statement.

Donovan bared his teeth in a grimace. "The desk clerk said a crack whore and her john booked the room for the night," he said. "And when pressed for a description, we get one matching Detective Beckett." He sneered. "Her 'john' was probably Agent Castle. Bastard played us. He was working with her the whole time. We'll get him on aiding and abetting a fugitive." He glanced at the bodies. "Add murder to that, too. At the very least, accessory. Beckett's obviously the prime killer here. Cops like her disgust me. She thinks she's above the law. Well, Agent McCord, she's wrong. And we're going to nail her ass and her boyfriend's, lock them up and throw away the key."

McCord merely inclined her head, deciding it was futile to point out that there was no evidence yet that his assertions were correct. His theory fit his unwavering story that Beckett was a rogue cop on a murder spree, one he'd had since he first picked up the case, but that didn't jive with her. She may not agree with the detective's choices in boyfriends or current actions, but she felt strongly that Beckett was a good cop, not one of the bad ones, unlike the pathetic excuse of a man standing next to her. Captain Gates seemed to be in Detective Beckett's corner, and that said a lot, considering her previous position as head of IAB.

Her initial misgivings about Donovan were starting to firm up. He was a little erratic, and a bit unhinged, insisting theory as fact without supporting it with evidence. Yes, she had no doubt Beckett and Castle had been involved in the deaths of these men, including Rajko Kápa—which was probably Agent Castle's doing—but it wasn't murder. She had a theory, but unlike Captain Donovan, would wait until the evidence was in to start making grandiose assertions as to guilt and innocence.

Donovan clapped his hands, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. "All right," he announced. "We now know Detective Beckett has an accomplice, her boyfriend, Richard Castle. They were here, and from the smells and look of the place, were celebrating. The clerk must have recognized Detective Beckett from the television broadcast, told his two buddies," he gestured towards the bodies on the floor, "who then—heroically, but unwisely—tried to make a citizen's arrest, unaware of the dangers in confronting a rogue cop and her attack dog boyfriend. Beckett and Castle killed them, then fled, killing another out in the parking lot when they stole his car."

"We don't have proof of any of that," Hendricks cut in, slashing an appalled look over at McCord.

She felt the same, but had decided it was futile to react to Donovan's mad ravings. She touched his arm and gestured with a jerk of her head. He opened his mouth to protest, but shut it at the look she flashed him. Together they departed the room, leaving Donovan to continue his fabricated and unhinged briefing.

Out in the hall, Hendricks looked to her with a puzzled expression. "I've never seen a cop as dirty as him," he spat out, disgusted. "Why can't we just put a stop to this? He's just making it up as he goes now."

McCord flickered her gaze back towards the motel room, before refocusing on her partner. "Because unlike Captain Donovan, we want evidence backing up our claims," she reminded. And then added, "Besides, there's not much more they'll be able to do tonight."

"You still think we'll find something in the Future Forward financial records?"  
"I do," McCord affirmed. "It may take a little more digging, but money never lies. It always talks. So, while Donovan chases after his White Whale, we'll return to the precinct and help Captain Gates and her detectives expose him for the rat he is."

Hendricks hesitated. "What about Detective Beckett? The way Donovan's firing up his squad, they're going to be out for blood, believing their taking down a corrupt and dirty cop."

"She'll be fine," McCord asserted, surprising even herself by saying as much. "She's tough. And even though I don't think she really needs him, she has Castle for support." She nodded. "They'll be fine."

XXX

_ This was her fifth time sneaking down here after shift, waiting until everyone else had gone home for the night, when the precinct staff was light. She knew she wasn't supposed to do it, but she couldn't help herself. It was a burning need inside. Most of her waking—and non-waking—hours were spend thinking, obsessing over every detail. Her entire career path had shifted because of it and she'd set herself up on a trajectory where she could actually do something about it. She wasn't there yet. But she couldn't wait._

_ It was a little cramped in the archives. There wasn't that much space between the shelves. But there was still enough room for her to work. She stalked down the aisle, flashlight in hand, beam directed at the cement floor. She didn't need to read the labels. She'd already memorized the path. Taking a right, she slipped around the end of one of the tall shelves and hurried down another, checking her wristwatch—bulky, male. It was her father's watch._

_ She had probably a good two hours and a half before the officer on duty came down to do his rounds. The first time she'd attempted to sneak in, she'd almost got caught, and had to perform a strategic retreat. The next time she came armed with a bride of a cup of coffee and a box of doughnuts. It gnawed at her that she'd fibbed her way in, telling the duty officer she just wanted to get acquainted with archives, see how it was laid out, before she was sent down to do research for one of the detectives, but it had been a necessary lie._

_ Flirting the light up, she stared at the label printed along the side of the box, the case number she'd memorized, with Detective John Raglan listed underneath as primary investigator. He'd been the one to come to their home, tell them that her mother was gone. She'd been angry at him then, for being the one to break the news, and now that she'd reviewed the case files, she was still angry._

_ In her opinion, which wasn't much, considering she was still in uniform, Detective Raglan declared her mother's death a result of random gang violence too quickly. He hadn't really put that much of an effort into investigating further. He'd decided early on what had happened and just rolled with it. The problem was when she finally got a look at the file, she wasn't able to figure anything else much out either. It frustrated her._

_ Holding her flashlight in her mouth, she stretched up and grabbed the box handle with one hand, carefully tugging it out until she could put her other hand underneath. With her hold secure, she gently pulled the box down and carried it over to a little workstation two rows over. She opened the box and immediately started pulling out the files and case notes, lying them down on the small tabletop. She grabbed the murder book, a black binder with the case number on the spine, in the center of the pile._

_ Opening it up, she reread the open sheet with Detective Raglan's findings. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd read his report. She practically had it memorized. But she reread it every time, just in case something new caught her attention that could then lead her to something else. Sighing in disappointment when she didn't see anything that could help her, she pulled over a stool and sat down, getting to work digging through the rest of the files and case notes, hoping she'd find something this time._

_ She studied the autopsy report for the fourth time, growing a little numb with each read through of the grizzly details, but never too much that her heart didn't clench and her breath didn't hitch. Her mother had been stabbed so many times. Being on the job for the short amount of time she'd had, she knew enough to know that there was no painless way to die. It was always painful, no matter what. She was so absorbed in rereading the medical examiner's findings that she hadn't heard the approaching footsteps._

_ She jerked in alarm when the overhead light flickered on. Spinning around, heart in her throat, she saw a tall man standing at the head of the aisle, staring at her with a mixture of confusion and displeasure._

_ Immediately, she hopped off the stool and stood at attention._

_ "At ease," the man said in a relaxed manner._

_ She swallowed, nervous. "You're Montgomery," she said, then corrected herself quickly, "I mean, Captain Montgomery." Her back went stiff as she stood at attention again, heart thudding wildly underneath her breast. Shit. She was in deep trouble._

_ Captain Montgomery cocked his head as he appraised her with intrigued eyes. "Do I know you, Officer…," he paused, gaze narrowing on the name plate above her badge, "… Beckett?"_

_ His voice had changed somewhat at her name, and his eyebrows knitted together. The tension in his shoulders seemed to relax, and his stern expression softened. His entire demeanor was suddenly different. She released a quick breath, wondering if she might manage to slip by with just a warning and not a formal reprimand in her file._

_ "No," she shook her head, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. "No, sir. I just… I've always wanted to do what you do. I wanted to be in homicide."_

_ "Is that right?" Montgomery raised an eyebrow as he gazed at her with an interested expression. "What are you doing now?"_

_ Confused, she furrowed her brow. "Patrol."_

_ "I can see that," the captain noted her uniform. "But what are you doing in the archives?"_

_ She sucked in a quick breath, ready to defend herself, even knowing she was in the wrong. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't… I didn't mean to be here. I know I shouldn't be. But I… I was looking into a case. My mom's homicide."_

_ Montgomery tilted his head as he glanced at the box and files scattered across the tabletop of the small workstation._

_ "Johanna Beckett," he said. And there was something to the tone of his voice, as if her name was familiar._

_ "Did you know her?" she asked, both surprised and anxious._

_ "I know her case is unsolved," Montgomery answered, noncommittally. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized her. She bit her lower lip and shifted nervously under his gaze. "And you were reviewing the files to see if they might have missed something?"_

_ She nodded. "Yes, sir."_

_ Montgomery inclined his head, as if that was what he'd been expecting her answer to be. "If the case is unsolved, chances are the answers aren't in the file."  
The hope that had burned bright inside her started to dim, and a growing sense of hopelessness swelled up inside her. It must have shown on her face, because Montgomery softened his stance, looking at her with quiet sympathy._

_ "What did your mother do, Officer Beckett?" he asked._

_ Puzzled by the question, she wet her lips before answering. "She was a lawyer."_

_ "And you think her death might have had something to do with a case she was handling?" he pushed._

_ "Well…," she hesitated, feeling a tad bit flustered at being questioned by the precinct commander, and was unsure what to say, but on an encouraging look from the captain, she continued, "The detective that was working her case—Raglan—said that it was just random but—"_

_ "Well, did you look through her personal belongings?" Montgomery questioned, like a teacher to his student. "Old notebooks, journals, diaries? Cassette recordings? Stuff like that?"_

_ "Yes, sir," she nodded. "Tons of times. But I haven't found anything that seems relevant."_

_ A look flashed over Montgomery's face. It was there one moment, and the next it was gone. She hadn't been paying too much attention, so she couldn't say for sure what it was, but he looked somewhat tentative before he spoke again._

_ "Well, keep looking," he encouraged, offering her a reassuring smile. "You never know when something might turn up."  
She nodded, though in truth didn't feel too hopeful._

_ "It was nice meeting you, Officer Beckett," he declared. He straightened his back and saluted her._

_ As she'd been trained, Beckett stood at attention and returned his salute._

_ Montgomery nodded, and offered her a small, sad smile. "Sorry about your mom."_

_ "Thank you, sir."_

_ And then he was leaving, without issuing a single rebuke or reprimand, or ordering her to stand down and abandon her research. When her heartrate settled back down to normal, she let out a breath, uncertain as to what just happened._

XXX

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly. Her vision was a bit unfocused. The world seemed to be moving, a blur of subdued color. There was a pounding behind her eyes, as if someone was working a jackhammer inside her head. Groaning, she shifted awkwardly, confused as to where she was. Lazily lulling her head to the side, Beckett grimaced and squinted, seeing Castle sitting behind a steering wheel. Jerking her head back, she glanced down, her muddled brain taking a minute or two to process the fact that she was strapped into the front passenger seat of a car. Flirting her gaze back up, she stared out the windshield, seeing a rain curtained stretch of highway, with mild traffic on both sides.

Working her mouth, trying to build up saliva, she sluggishly reached up and rubbed her forehead, the memory of her dream lingering like a cloud over her.

"Good, you're awake," came a familiar and comforting voice of the man she loved.

Tilting her head to the side, leaning back against the headrest, she gaze over at Castle, seeing him glancing quickly over at her before looking back out at the road, worry marring his handsome features.

"How are you feeling?"

Wrinkling her brow, she shook her head and stared out the window. "Where are we?"

"Ripton, Vermont," Castle supplied. "Population 588. In a couple of short hours we will be crossing into Canada."

Beckett tried to shake her head, but it still hurt too much to move. "No, no," she mumbled. "Turn around. We have to go back."

"What!?" Castle frowned.

She fumbled about, eyes flirting around the front dashboard, before dropping and finding a water bottle in the cup holder. With trembling hands, she picked it up and slowly unscrewed the lid. Closing her eyes, she swallowed down a deep gulp of water. She licked her lips and let out a relieved sigh, feeling a smidgen more like herself.

"It was Montgomery," Beckett stated, flicking her eyes up to look at him, watching as his strong jaw tensed. "He made that recording of Bracken. The one that Hunt told us about."

"Captain Montgomery?" Castle shook his head in disbelief. "How could you possibly know that?"

Over their time together, she had told him all about her former captain and his role in her mother's death. She'd told him far more than she'd ever told any other friend or lover. Castle knew more about her than anyone else. She also knew that Castle had probably done his own digging, using his CIA resources to gain more information on the cold case.

As angry as she'd been with Montgomery for his actions and decisions, Beckett couldn't help but still admire and miss him, while still despising him for his betrayal. Her feelings on Captain Roy Montgomery would always be conflicted. Following their encounter in the archives, he had become her mentor, taking her under his wing and grooming her to be the best detective she could. It pained her that the two had never had the chance to meet, because she had a strong sense the deceased captain would have got along splendidly with her boyfriend.

"Castle, when I first met him, Montgomery was saying things about my mother's murder," Beckett explained, knitting her eyebrows together as she recalled elements from her memory that her dream had brought back to the surface. "Things that I didn't understand at the time. But he specifically mentioned a cassette recording."

He cocked his head slightly to the side to glance at her, pursing his lips as he absorbed that tidbit. "And Hunt said that the person who made that recording was a former associate of Bracken's," Castle recalled, shifting his focus back to the road.

"Yeah," she smiled weakly, still a little groggy from the combination of whiskey, drugs, and the blow to the head. "It all adds up."

"Okay," Castle bobbed his head, flicking on the blinker, already starting the process of locating an exit to turn them around. God, how she loved his faith in her. "But if Montgomery did have that kind of evidence, why wouldn't he have just given it to Smith along with those files?"

While she pondered that question, she swallowed down a few more sips of water, trying to clear her head. "I think… I think he gave it to my mom," she asserted after a long interlude of silence. "I remember him asking me if I had been through her belongings, specifically if I'd come across a cassette tape."

"Kate," Castle hedged, flashing her a contrite expression. "If he gave her the tape, surely you would have found it already. You've been through her things a thousand times."

Beckett mulled over his comment as the car veered into the exit lane. After some thought, she shook her head. "No," she persisted. "Castle, I didn't know what I was looking for. The answer is there. I know it." She heaved in a breath, feeling the rush of hope rekindling inside her. "I have a box of her things at our apartment."

Castle grimaced, already thinking ahead as he slowed the car down as he took the exit and turned, heading for the southbound entrance. "They'll be staking out our place," he asserted. "Donovan and IAB. Hell, maybe even McCord and her FBI goons."

"Maybe, yeah," Beckett conceded, though still growing more certain of their path. "But not Bracken's guys. Not now. He thinks I'm dead."

"And Donovan?" Castle reminded.

She managed a teasing smirk as she glanced sideways at him. "Oh, please, Castle… you're telling me a spy like you can't get use into our apartment when IAB cops are watching the place?"

A grin worked its way onto his face. "Okay," he granted. "Okay. I could. But let's go with the easy way."

"Huh?"

Castle gripped the steering wheel with one hand as he tilted his body slightly to wiggle his hand down into his pocket, producing the TCD-74. He tossed it over to her.

"Call the boys," he instructed. "I'm sure they'll be more than happy to help."

Beckett smiled and flipped the CIA crafted cellphone open, already dialing as Castle revved up the engine as they sped up into the on ramp and merged onto the southbound side of the highway.

XXX

It was late. He should be at home. In the past, he would already be home, but with the divorce finalized, Samson York found the silence at home difficult. Ironically, it was the implosion of his marriage that had him rethinking his initial decisions regarding Rick Castle and the agent's relationship with the NYPD detective. York did not regret his chosen career path, but he did regret sidelining his marriage. There had been no children. No grandchildren. The life he'd promised her never happened, because the job always came first.

He had loved Delilah, still did, but she'd only been able to handle so many late nights and broken promises before it was enough. He didn't blame her for filing for divorce. The fault was his. He'd neglected her and their relationship. He didn't want his young protégé to make the same mistakes. Sighing, he reached for the glass of Schweppes' Bitter Lemon and took a long gulp.

A knock from the door startled him and he glanced up to see his secretary.

"Delia? Why are you still here?"

She entered, a little nervous, and he frowned, putting his glass down.

"What is it?"

"Don't be mad," she prefaced, "but I didn't send ADD Kovaks's desktop unit to the Bunker." He raised his eyebrows, but remained silent, gesturing for her to continue. "I had Hargrove hook it up to a secure outside network, while keeping the actual unit in house. Using our secure line with the New York offices, I had Vikram Singh start a deep dive into the files."

"And?"

Delia cocked her head at his tone. "You're not mad?"

"The connections are secure and no information has been leaked?"

She nodded.

"And only approved personnel have viewed the data?"

She nodded again, brow furrowing with confusion.

"Then that is all that is important," Samson York said. "But, in the future, please follow my instructions to the letter, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good," he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Now, tell me what Mr. Singh has found."

Delia smiled, and told him.


	31. Chapter 30

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 30**_

* * *

It had rain hard overnight and the air was thick with the left over moisture. He stepped briskly out of the small bakery, a large to-go coffee cup in his hand and a bag of pastries in the other. Glancing back and forth, he hurried across the street. The traffic was light. He picked up his pace to a jog and headed for the black Escalade parked two cars down. They'd spent the night in the SUV, camping out here in White Plains as they waited for the rain to cease at daybreak before continuing on with their assignment from the Kingmaker.

"I got your coffee," he grunted, climbing into the backseat.

"Thanks," Elena accepted the cup, taking a swallow and sighing. "Perfect."

Kilmer pressed his lips into a thin line. He hadn't liked playing errand boy, but Piotr, with his hulking bulk, would have attracted more attention than they wanted. He tossed the bag of pastries to his driver. The bear of a man grinned as he pulled out a bear claw.

"Thanks, boss," he said as he tore into the pastry.

Kilmer arched his neck and glanced back at their prisoner, still bound and gagged in the rear cargo compartment. Gavin Huxley was awake now, his eyes blinking lazily as he glanced around at his surroundings. It wouldn't be long until they could dispose of the dead weight.

"Any news from Sébastien?" Kilmer inquired, keeping his eyes locked on the bound CIA agent.

"He's almost through the final layer of encryption," Piotr answered with a mouth half full of pastry. "He says he'll have it within an hour or two."

"That gives us time," Elena put in, pausing to take another sip of her coffee. "We can scout ahead, check on the Bunker's defenses."

Kilmer slowly turned to her. "Sébastien will get us the blueprints and codes."

"And him?" Elena jerked her head towards Huxley.

Kilmer allowed a tight smile. "He'll get us in."

XXX

"There's a spot."

"I see it," grumbled Esposito as he spun the wheel and maneuvered the department issued Dodge Charger into the spot. He was a little on edge. It might have something to do with all the caffeine he'd ingested while pulling an all-nighter. He glanced at his partner, annoyed at the exuberance radiating off him. Putting the car into park, he cut the engine and craned his neck to glance around the neighborhood.

"Pretty nice place," Ryan commented from his spot. "Right across from the park."

"Yeah, yeah," Esposito grunted. "You see anything?"

"Nah," his partner shook his head. "You?"

Narrowing his eyes, Esposito stared down the street. "Nothing out front," he noted, reaching for the door handle. He pushed it open and climbed out, looking at his partner over the top of the Charger. "Let's scope out the area first."

Ryan nodded, and then took off down the street at a quick pace. Esposito locked the car and headed in the opposite direction, keeping his eyes on alert. He held up his hand to stop a cab as he jogged across the street. The driver stuck his middle finger at him, and Esposito suppressed an eyeroll. New York. It was such a lovely place.

Scanning the building fronts, and peeking into Gramercy Park across the street, Esposito didn't see anything suspicious, and he didn't recognize any other unmarked vehicles. Heading back to the Charger, he met back up with Ryan.

"Anything?"

"Just some dog walkers in the park, and a few delivery men," Ryan asked.

Esposito raised his eyebrow.

"I checked them out, they're legit," Ryan assured.

Letting out an anxious breath, Esposito ran a hand over his head and nodded. "Let's check the apartment before we call them in."

Ryan crossed the street ahead of him, and Esposito walked behind, checking his phone for messages. Gates had sent a text, informing him that McCord and her FBI team had hit upon something in the financial records and were closing in. That made the tensed knot in his belly loosen just a fraction. Donovan was bad. He stunk of it, and he didn't like it. So, it was nice knowing that they might be able to do something about that soon. He hoped McCord and her team would hurry up though. Things were getting pretty tight.

"No elevator," Ryan announced, and the huffed, partly under his breath, "Barbarians."

That managed to get a chuckle out of him.

They took the stairs up to the third floor, and stopped at the landing. Ryan spied ahead and drew back, holding up two fingers.

"We go with the plan," Esposito said. "Hope they bite."

"And if they don't?" his partner asked, brow wrinkling with worry.

"Then we improvise," Esposito smirked, and patted him on the shoulder.

Ryan sighed and shook his head, still concerned, but buttoned it down and put on a mask, hiding his emotions. He gripped the railing and took the lead, jogging up the stairs.

The two uniforms guarding the front door tensed and then relaxed when they recognized them. He knew them. He stifled a scowl. Donovan didn't even trust the homicide squad's uniformed officers. Well, at least both officers were from the Twelfth Precinct, even if they served in a different division on different floors. Robbery, he believed, after another look.

"Hey guys," Ryan offered a pleasant smile. "It's your lucky day. Donovan sent us over so you can grab a bite to eat."

"We're not supposed to take breakfast for another hour," one of the officers, the shorter of the two, responded.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Esposito said, putting it on thick. "Is this not a good time for you? So what, we should just wait here until you guys get hungry?"

The two men exchanged a glance, and the other one shrugged. The shorter guy spoke again, clearly the spokesman for the two. "All right," he said. "We'll grab a quick bite and be back in a few."

He nodded to his partner, and Esposito and Ryan stepped aside to let the two of them pass, smiling like their all one big happy family. They gave it a few minutes, before Esposito patted Ryan's shoulder and jogged down the stairs, poking his head out the front door. He glanced left and right, seeing no sign of the uniforms. Letting out a relieved breath, Esposito dug his phone out of his pocket and murmured a quick prayer of thanks in Spanish, before sending a text to the number Beckett had used to contact them last night.

_ALL CLEAR_.

There was a pause before his phone buzzed with a response.

_ON OUR WAY_.

Esposito stepped back inside the building and waited, impatiently tapping his foot. A silver Ford Taurus pulled up across the street and slid into a parking spot with ease. The driver side door opened and he saw Castle step out. Beckett emerged from the other side, her smaller frame nearly swallowed up in a large gray sweater with the hood up, obscuring her face. They linked hands and then rushed across, Castle taking the lead as he opened the door and ushered her into the building's lobby.

Beckett pulled down her hood and glanced at him with a grateful smile. "Thanks," she said, wrapping her arms around him in an unexpected embrace. Esposito let out a puff of air and squeezed back in response.

"Yeah, that saved us a lot of time," Castle asserted, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

"It was nothing," Esposito insisted as they jogged up the stairs. "It's what partners do."

Beckett inclined her head.

When they rounded the corner, Ryan beamed. He shook hands with Castle and then gave Beckett a quick hug.

"It's good to see you," he said, then added, glancing at Castle. "Both of you."

"Almost didn't make it," Beckett commented with a roll of her shoulders, wincing. "Bracken ambushed me in our motel room last night."

"What!?" Esposito growled, turning towards Castle, glaring daggers at the man. "And where the hell were you, Spy Boy!"

"Ease off, Espo," Beckett ordered, her voice firm and commanding. She placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed slightly to keep him back. "It wasn't Castle's fault. I let my guard down. But I'm here, so everything is okay."

His nostrils flared, and he clenched his jaw, but obeyed, inclining his head as he stepped back, though he still stared hard at Castle. Beckett's boyfriend met his gaze head on, and the two had a brief staring contest, neither one willing to surrender. Beckett let out a groan and rolled her eyes.

"Men," he heard her scoff under her voice.

"Well," Ryan chirped in, talking fast like a chipmunk. "We don't have too much time before the uniforms realized Donovan didn't send us to give them a break, so you better get in there and find whatever it is you're looking for before they get back."

"Right," Beckett nodded, tapping Castle's shoulder.

Esposito blinked and the spy smirked in triumph. He curled his lips in a sneer, but worked at keeping it stifled so he didn't upset Beckett. Ryan opened the door for them, and Esposito stepped back and watched as the two slipped into their apartment. Once they were inside, Ryan closed the door and took up a position in front of it, hands clasped together. Esposito heaved in a deep calming breath, and followed suit. He hoped they didn't take too long, because he had a bad feeling that even though Gates would cover for them, Donovan would have noticed their absence and connected the dots.

XXX

He stared through the window into the interview room, watching as Simon Brunt, also known as Colin Hunt, was led into the room by Agent Susan Ortiz. Another agent brought in coffee and a box of doughnuts. Colin Hunt eyed the various styles, selecting a maple bar. He took a big bite and grinned.

"Marvelous," he declared, his voice piped into the observation room through a stereo-system. He tentatively sampled some of the coffee, before raising his eyebrows. "That's better than the shit the NYPD had. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Susan answered dryly, pacing around him as he ate his breakfast. "Now, why don't you tell us more about the Consortium and its operations."

"What do you want to know?" he asked with a mouth full of maple bar.

"Who contacts you when there is an assignment?"

"Ah, the middle men," he nodded. "Yes, there are quite a few. All anonymous, I'm afraid. Through burners, or anonymous emails on the dark web. All very hush-hush, if you get my drift." He flashed her a playful smile and a wink.

Susan smiled back, before tearing into him, easily wiping the smirk off his face. It was a glorious thing to watch. However, as much as Danberg enjoyed seeing Colin Hunt getting grilled by Susan Ortiz for more information on the Consortium, and specifically their leadership, known as the Board, he'd couldn't bring himself to really care how much the man would divulge to them.

"Having problems, Agent Danberg?" came a familiar deep voice.

Turning, he saw Agent Jackson Hunt stepped into the observation room. The senior agent signaled the technician, who immediately muted the audio.

"No, sir," Danberg asserted. "I'm fine."

"Liar," Hunt said, moving to stand beside him. He tucked his hands into his pockets and stared through the glass at Colin Hunt. "You're not happy that he's still alive. You want him punished for what he did to Ana Cavendish."

He fought down the rising tide of emotions. Tears of rage and grief prickled at the corner of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Clenching his jaw, he pressed down on his feelings. "I won't deny it, sir. But what I wish for doesn't matter. It's for the greater good."

"Yes," Jackson Hunt concurred after a brief lull. "The greater good. You, Agent Danberg, are able to see the bigger picture. See beyond personal needs and wants."

Danberg could hear that which wasn't said. "Unlike Agent Castle," he finished. "That's what you mean."

"I did not say that," Hunt pointed out.

"You didn't have to," Danberg replied, looking at the older man standing beside him, wondering how it had taken him so long to connect the dots, and why his friend hadn't. "You're his father."

He could sense the tension reverberate out from the legendary agent. Hunt's eyes squinted slightly, the only visual evidence of his unspoken acknowledgement.

"Why haven't you told him?" Danberg inquired.

The older man's jaw tightened as he worked it. "It doesn't matter," was all he said, staring straight ahead, watching the interview in the other room. "Just like you, I see the bigger picture."

Danberg didn't know how to respond to that.

"Director York called," Hunt announced, giving Danberg whiplash with the sudden shift in topic. "He seized Kovaks's desktop unit at Langley and had it hooked up to a secure line with our New York offices where Vikram Singh was able to search the files for anything that might be relevant to Operation Mongoose."

"And?"

Hunt squinted his eyes. "He found some hidden files, buried behind other files. I've ordered Mr. Singh back to Langley, where he'll be able to examine the actual unit. We'll need to do a proper review and search, but I believe those files should allow us to bring the Consortium and its leadership down without any further casualties."

"That's good," Danberg let out a sigh of relief, wishing he could phone Castle and tell his friend the good news.

Hunt tilted his head and regarded him for a long second. "Rest assured," Hunt asserted in a cool tone. "Simon Brunt will be punished."  
"What about his deal?"

Hunt pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away, his face a mask of calm indifference. "There was no deal."

He signaled the technician and the audio was unmuted. The conversation was obviously over. Shifting on his feet, Danberg crossed his arms and stared back through the window as Susan Ortiz continued questioning Colin Hunt on everything he knew about the Consortium.

XXX

She stopped after taking one foot into their living room, her eyes locked in on the leftovers, three cartons of Chinese food and a pizza box, that had been left abandoned on the coffee table. Her Union Jack throw pillow lay askew on the floor, where it had fallen during their haste to get to the bed room and reconnect. Castle moved up behind her and smoothed a hand down her back, knowing what she was thinking, and it had nothing to do with the mess left behind.

"We'll have this," he asserted, his conviction firm and unwavering. "When this is all done, we'll have the life with both want. Together."

Beckett pursed her lips into a thin line. "You really believe that, don't you?" she questioned, staring straight ahead.

"I do, yes," he affirmed. "Because anything else is unacceptable."

She arched her neck and glanced back at him, offering a weak smile. "I want that to."

"Then let's finish this," he encouraged.

Her features shifted into a determined set, and Beckett strolled through their living room, stalking around the sofa and heading for the double doors that led to their shared office. She slid the doors open and stepped in, Castle behind her. He lingered by the threshold, taking in the space he'd rarely inhabited, silently vowing to change that. The single desk was a gorgeous piece, bought at an antiques faire. His laptop remained on the surface. Behind the desk, on the small high table in front of the window, sat an old typewriter, and a framed photo of them, taken by Alexis, during one of their family outings into Central Park.

Beckett headed straight for the floor to ceiling wall cabinet on the right, where her things were stored. The wall cabinet on the other side of the room held most of his manuscripts, and some other personal items. He watched as she flung the cabinet door open, she crouched down and reached inside to pull out a box.

"Okay," she said, working the box out of the bottom shelf. "If Montgomery gave her the tape, she would have written something down about it." She stood, grunting as she hefted the box up onto the desk. "I kept some of her notebooks in here."

She lifted the lid and flung it aside, upturning the box and its contents onto the desktop.

"It has to be here," Beckett insisted, rifling through the disorganized pile of legal pads, spiral bound notebooks, and other files and folders.

Castle stepped over, taking in the frustration marring her beautiful features. He hated seeing her so stressed, wishing there was more he could do. If he could have gotten away with it, he would have killed Bracken. But that wouldn't have given Beckett the closure or justice she was seeking. She wanted the truth of Bracken's misdeeds to be known, to expose his corruption and see him locked away. Killing him wouldn't have given her that.

"Damn it, she kept a lot of notes," Beckett mumbled under her breath.

Frowning, Castle bent over the pile and pulled out a leather bound journal. Odd. He flipped it over in his hands before parting the cover.

"Her appointment book," he announced when Beckett glanced up to see what he'd found. He scanned through the pages, brow furrowing at the strange combination of letters and numbers he saw. "What is this? Some kind of shorthand?"

Beckett craned her neck as he turned the journal around for her to see. "Uh, yeah," she nodded. "She developed a code when she was in law school. Just in case anyone subpoenaed her notes."

Raising his eyebrows, Castle smiled lightly. "That's ingenious."

Beckett offered a shrug. "Except she was the only one who knew what it meant," she explained. "Not even my Dad knew it. I gave it to contacts with the FBI and military intelligence—no one was able to decipher it."

"I know two crackerjack computer geeks that might do a better job," Castle commented, absently thinking of Riley and Vikram, as he continued to flip through the pages.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know anyone in the CIA until last year," Beckett replied with a light smirk, before frowning. "And I don't think we have time to waste on that." She sighed. "Honestly, I don't think there's anything in there that could help." She reached for another notebook, starting flipping through it.

"Wait," he said, holding up a hand, staring down at the page he'd just turned to. "This is from the day she died. There's gotta be something in here about that case."

Sighing, she flung the notebook down and shook her head. "Even if there is, we don't have the time to figure it out," she reiterated, glancing at her wristwatch and hissing. "This was a waste of our time, Castle. Come on. We gotta go."

"Hey, look at this last entry," he insisted, stepping around to join her, holding the date book between them. He ran his finger along the line of text, reading it out loud. "_D Me w/Family._"

Beckett nodded. "Dinner with family," she translated. "She was on her way to the restaurant to meet us the night that she was killed."

Castle shook his head.

"No, that's not it," he asserted, pointing at Johanna's notes. "Look how close the D is to the M. DM?"

She wrinkled her brow and then jerked her eyes up to lock with his. "Detective Montgomery!" they both declared at the same moment. Castle couldn't help but smile, and he was pleased to see the same was true with her. Her smile was beautiful. He never wanted anything to dim it.

Licking his lips, he heroically dragged his eyes away from the gorgeous sight of his girlfriend smiling and back to Johanna's appointment book. "_E_?" he hummed, mulling it over in his head. "Evidence? So… Detective Montgomery evidence?"

Beckett hesitated, her eyes alighting with hope. "Do you think that—?"

"I do," he bobbed his head, then pointed to the last part of the line. "_With Family_." He knitted his eyebrows together in thought. "She was bringing the tape to you. Maybe to give it to your father for safekeeping."

Beckett shook her head, immediately discounting the idea. "If that's the case she would have had it on her when she was killed. Bracken would have already recovered it then."

"Right," Castle let out a defeated sigh. "If he had, he still wouldn't be looking for it."

He watched her as her nose wrinkled as she thought. Beckett cocked her head to the side and glared down at the notebook.

"So, what the hell did she do with the tape?" she asked rhetorically.

There was a sudden shout and a crash from outdoors. Castle jerked his head up, dropping the book and reaching for his Sig Sauer. He shoved Beckett behind him as the front door of their apartment burst open. Drawing his gun, he raised it to fire, but Beckett grabbed his arm and pulled it down, shaking her head.

"Freeze! Freeze! Freeze!" came the shouts of the men. "Hands in the air! Drop the gun! Drop it!"

Castle tensed, willing to shoot it out, but Beckett squeezed his arm and shook her head again, before stepping away from him and raising her hands in the air. He hesitated, before following her lead. Letting out a low rumbling growl of displeasure, Castle dropped his weapon, and raised his hands up in surrender.

"On your knees!" one of the S.W.A.T. officer ordered.

He complied, then grunted as rough and aggressive hands grabbed him and slammed him to the floorboards, hard, pinning his arms behind his back as they slapped cuffs on him. He clenched his jaw and arched his neck over his shoulder to see Beckett being treated in the same rough manner.

"Easy!" he shouted when he saw her grimace in pain. "She's injured."

"Shut it," ordered a new voice.

Stretching his neck back around, he saw Captain Donovan stride into the fray with his weapon in hand. Castle bared his teeth as he heard Beckett stifling a grunt of pain as her arms were wrenched behind her back and cuffs were secured roughly around her wrists. He glared daggers up at the Internal Affairs captain. Donovan just stood there and stared back, a smug, triumphant smirk working its way across his arrogant face.


	32. Chapter 31

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 31**_

* * *

The elevator doors rattled open on the fourth floor of the Twelfth Precinct. She pursed her lips and swallowed. The moment S.W.A.T. and Donovan burst into their apartment, she knew this moment would come. But that knowledge didn't lessen the humiliation or shame of being perp walked through her own house.

The buzz of activity ceased as Captain Donovan stepped out first, leading the procession, and Beckett along with Castle, Esposito, and Ryan—all handcuffed—were marched through the bullpen. All eyes were on them, shock and confusion written on most of their faces. Breathing through her nose, she glanced left, seeing Captain Gates emerge from her office, watching with concern.

Ducking her head down, Beckett averted her eyes. She wet her lips and spoke in a low voice, so that only her boys—all three of them—heard her. "You guys, I'm so sorry."

"Please," Esposito scoffed. "We're the ones who screwed up."

"We led them right to you," Ryan added, face drooping with guilt.

Donovan stalked ahead, pausing when he reached the gap in the latticed barrier that opened into the bullpen proper. He arched his neck and glanced back at them, working at suppressing a smug smile.

"Keep them here 'til I get back," he ordered his IAB goons. "I want to personally escort them all to booking."

"Sir."

Detective Rankin of IAB nodded, and then gripped her arm tightly, steering her towards the corner wall. Castle and the boys were likewise directed. Donovan cast one more long glance over them, momentarily allowing his smug look to show, before swaggering off to the conference room. Beckett tracked his movement, watching as he reached inside his jacket pocket to retrieve his phone. She observed Captain Gates watching Donovan as well, not bothering to hide the disdain in her eyes.

When Donovan disappeared into the conference room, speaking in hushed tones on the phone, Gates snapped her eyes back to her detectives and uniformed officers.

"What are you all standing around for?" she growled. "Back to work!"

Everyone immediately hustled to get back to work, trying hard to appear as if they didn't care about what was going on with one of their top homicide teams.

Letting out a soft breath, Beckett spun around, putting her back to the bullpen. In doing so, she missed seeing Gates stride swiftly across the bullpen towards one of the lounge rooms, where Agent McCord could be seen peering out at the commotion. Beckett closed her eyes and canted towards her boyfriend.

"Castle…," she started in a quiet, apologetic voice.

He hushed in a soothing manner that only he seemed to possess. "It's not your fault," he assured.

She pursed her lips and swallowed, dropping her gaze, feeling the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. Her vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tide. Beckett could not help but feel like a failure, despite what Castle said. She was the one who insisted they come back to the city to look through her mother's notebooks. It had been a stupid move. She'd been too foolish to see it. Too prideful. Castle, along with Ryan and Esposito, were standing there in handcuffs because of her.

Inhaling through her nose, Beckett worked up the courage to face her faults. Raising her head, she glanced at Castle with watery eyes, guilt and remorse flooding through her.

"I really thought we were going to make it," she stated, voice thick with her failure.

Castle tilted his head to the side and sighed. He moved gently, reaching for her bound hands with his. Their fingers interlocked as he pulled her closer.

"Hey," he murmured, his eyes shining with love. "Whatever happens."

Her eyes dropped to his lips, and she tipped her head up, meeting his mouth in a sweet kiss. Pulling back, Castle rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and took a moment to simply breathe him in, memorizing his scent and the feel of his comforting presence.

Beckett gazed up at him, eyes tearing up. Her emotions bubbled up inside her, fighting for escape. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she'd yet to say. But she couldn't find the words. Her jaw worked, mouth opening and closing. She felt so helpless. Her chest clenched and her heart squeezed with the weight of it all. So, Beckett just stared up into his eyes, opening herself to him, letting him gaze into the depths of her soul, into everything that she was and ever would be, everything that made her who she was, faults and all.

There was no accusation or judgment in his gaze, simply an unbridled love that pierced straight into her very being, along with a pure acceptance that just left her breathless. He loved her in spite of her faults, and because of them. He loved all of her, not just the shining pieces, but also the cracked and raw parts that were dull and without luster.

"I love you," she breathed out, meaning it from the very depth of her soul.

"Kate," he sighed. "I love you, too. Always."

She worked her jaw and swallowed, battling back the tears. "Always," she echoed, pushing up to capture his lips in another kiss.

"Hey, you two… knock it off," Rankin ordered gruffly, stepping over to shove them apart with a mean push.

Castle growled, low in his throat, turning towards the man with an aggressive posture, moving between the IAB goon and her. She stood tall and proud, unashamed of her love displayed so openly for the man beside her. She matched her boyfriend's glare, and Rankin squinted his beady eyes as he tried to stare back at them, but he balked easily, and backed away, grumbling, no match for their unified front.

Puffing out a breath, Beckett shook her head and tilted her gaze to the side, her eyes wandering as she aimlessly thought over everything that had happened, desperately grasping for anything that could shift the impending outcome. That was when her eyes alighted on her desk and the ceramic parade of elephants that she had displayed on the surface.

Her eyebrows knitted together as the gears slowly started to turn within her head.

"Castle…," she breathed out, stunned as the lightning struck. "The elephants."

Arching his neck, Castle glanced through the latticework, narrowing his eyes as he gazed over at her desk.

He frowned. "I don't understand," he shifted to look back at her, brow furrowing.

"They were my mom's," Beckett explained, feeling the surge of hope swell up inside her. "Before they were on my desk, she used to keep them on hers."

She remembered it so clearly, seeing them displayed prominently on Johanna Beckett's work desk. She saw her mother's smiling face in her mind's eye, encouraging her on.

_ You almost have it, Katie. Just a little more. Put the pieces together. I know you can do it. Life never delivers anything that you can't handle_.

Snapping her eyes back to Castle's puzzled look, feeling the corners of her mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly as the pieces started to fall into place. "She used to joke about how they were like a family, just like us. Me, my mom, my dad. There were a family."

Behind Castle, Ryan and Esposito craned their necks to look over at the desk with puzzled expressions and wrinkled brows. She didn't care they were eavesdropping. They all needed to hear this. It could be the break they needed. Heaving in a deep breath, she flicked her eyes back to Castle, seeing him putting it together as well. His lips pressed into a thin smile, barely noticeable, but she caught it. His eyes flicked over to her and he nodded.

She held her breath. He was going to provide her with a distraction, creating a window in which she could test her hypothesis.

"Now," he whispered, and then jerked back, fast, slamming his shoulder into Detective Rankin.

"Hey!"

Seizing upon the moment, Beckett made a break for it, lunging for her desk. She reached for the ceramic parade of elephants as Castle and the boys fought back against the IAB goons, Rankin shouting for Donovan. The Internal Affairs Captain came rushing out of the conference room, his eyes ablaze with fury as he spotted Beckett hunched over her desk. Letting out a growl, he withdrew his weapon and aimed it at her. Gates appeared beside him and yanked at his arm. He growled and shoved her off.

"Detective Beckett!" he roared, stalking towards her. "Step back, Detective. Do it, now!"

Heart in throat, Beckett grabbed the little elephants, turning them over in her bound hands, running her fingers over the ceramic surface, searching for seams that might indicated a hidden compartment. This was her last hope. It was do or die.

"Step down now, Detective!" Donovan shouted.

IAB officers grabbed at Esposito and Ryan, pressing them hard up against the wall. Esposito swore in Spanish as Ryan grunted. Castle swung his elbow out, knocking one of his opponents in the gut. He spun around and headbutted Rankin, causing the IAB detective to stumble back, disoriented. Detective Chapman pulled out his gun.

Esposito shook off the uniformed officer holding him down and pivoted around, jerking out his elbow to knock the pistol out of Chapman's hands. Castle moved forward then and kneed the man in the groin.

Beckett glanced back down at the ceramic elephants, squeezed and tugged.

On the other side of the bullpen, Donovan freed himself from Gates's hold and rushed for Beckett, grabbing her left arm, tugging it back disrupting her efforts.

"No!" she cried, voice desperate.

"Show me your hands!" Donovan shouted.

"No, wait!" she pleaded, knowing it was futile, but pulled back, freeing her elbow.

Donovan huffed and reached between them, wrestling her for the elephants. "Put it down!" he commanded. "Drop it, now!"

Beckett struggled with him, but with her hands cuffed together at the wrists, she didn't have much leverage. She could feel her grip slipping. Donovan called for assistance, but none came. Gates was stalking forward, countermanding his orders. It was chaos. Bedlam ensued as Beckett's colleagues, detectives and uniforms alike, moved to block IAB from interfering. She fought with Donovan, perspiration trickling on the nape of her neck as she felt something give along one of the elephant's back.

Just as Beckett started to make some progress, Donovan gained the upper hand in their tug-of-war, and yanked the ceramic elephants from her grasp. Yet as he did so, one of her fingers snagged along the seam, and thankfully held. Donovan yet out a grunt and pulled. The covering snapped off with an audible pop, and from within a hidden compartment a micro-cassette tape tumbled out. And, as if in slow motion, clattered to the floor between them.

Her breath hitched. It had been there the whole time. All the proof she'd had needed at been right in front of her and she hadn't even noticed.

Donovan's eyes grew wide, and Beckett caught a look of recognition flash across his face. Quickly, he shoved her back and lifted his foot, intent on smashing the small cassette tape under his boot, but before he could, Agent Hendricks was yanking him back by the collar of his jacket.

"Release me!" he roared.

Hendricks shifted his grip to the man's arms, tugging them around behind his back.

"Not me, you fool!" Donovan growled.

Agent McCord came sauntering up, Captain Gates alongside her. The former held up a stack of printouts, waving them in front of Donovan's face.

"Captain Marcus Donovan," McCord announced, raising her voice so that the entire floor heard, "you are under arrest."

"On what charges!?" he demanded, sneering at her. "You have no right!"

"For being a dirty cop!" Gates interjected before the FBI agent could answer.

"Among other things," McCord added, smirking as he winced as Hendricks snapped the cuffs over his wrists and tightened them. "You see, we did some digging into Future Forward's financial records, and while the bulk of the money was moved into untraceable accounts, there was a small portion that was siphoned off into an offshore account that made regular transfers to a bank account under your name."

"We doubled checked," Hendricks hissed, leaning over the other man's shoulder. "The offshore account sending you regular payments once belonged to Johann Kriedt. And you know who controls that account right now?"

Donovan clenched his jaw and remained silent.

"You're in some deep trouble, Captain," Hendricks said. "Seems you've been taking bribes from the man responsible for the assassination of the Vice President of the United States, which sort of makes you a co-conspirator, at least an accessory after the fact."

"Fabrications! Lies!" cried Donovan, struggling against his restraints.

McCord shook her head. "You fool," she said. "Your fingerprints are all over it."

His eyes widened with fear as he realized he was found out.

"Bingo," she nodded. "Didn't you think it odd that your contacts requested a signed acknowledgement for each payment."

"Fuck!" he swore, jerking in Hendricks hold.

Gates moved in, pushing up into his face, glaring daggers at him. "You disgust me, Marcus," she declared, reaching down to unclip the badge attached to his belt, taking it from him. "You're a disgrace to the badge, your rank, the Department, and the whole damn country." She stepped back, curling her lip as she regarded him. "Get this scum out of my sight."

"With pleasure," Hendricks firmed up his grip and shoved him forward.

Beckett wasn't above taking some small sense of satisfaction in seeing the Internal Affairs captain perp walked through the bullpen. It was petty, but she felt she deserved it. Gates nodded to Karpowski, who, along with L.T. and two other uniforms, gathered up IAB Detectives Rankin and Chapman, and marched them off to an interview room. The pair might not be dirty, only following the orders of their superior, but it was clear to Beckett that Captain Gates wasn't going to take any chances.

As Donovan was hauled away, McCord crouched down and picked up the cassette tape off the scuffed and scratched floorboards, squinting her eyes as she examined it. Gates signaled the uniform officer guarding them, who then moved to remove the restraints from Castle, Ryan, and Esposito. Nodding in approval, Captain Gates then turned and stepped over to Beckett, offering her a small smile, which was a little frightening. Beckett wasn't used to seeing her commanding officer smile.

"It's good to see you, Detective Beckett," she said, reaching down and unlocking the cuffs.

"You too, sir," she inclined her head in gratitude, a little overwhelmed by the support from her captain, rubbing her wrists. As soon as he was freed, Castle rushed over to her. She sighed, taking comfort from his supportive presence at her back.

"Detective," McCord nodded, handing over the micro-cassette tape. "Care to explain what this is?"

She swallowed as she glanced down at the long sought after item in her opened palm. _Such a small thing_, she thought. Castle squeezed her shoulder in support. Squaring her jaw, she glanced back up, meeting McCord's curious eyes.

"Evidence," Beckett asserted in a firm voice. "Proof that Senator William H. Bracken ordered the death of my mother."

XXX

Sunlight tried to break through the clouds, but was failing. Threat of more rain seemed plausible, yet nothing seemed to be pouring from the sky. All appearances seemed to indicate it would just be a gloomy cloudy day, nothing more or less. He stood there, gazing up at the structure in front of him, tall steel rods, arranged in a circle that came together and pointed to the sky. _The Rising_. It was a memorial dedicated to the victims of the 9/11 terrorist attacks who were from Westchester County. The names of the victims were displayed on the granite surrounding the main structure.

Kilmer found the memorial an interesting tribute. He arched his neck and glanced up, following the steel beams up, up, up, until they ended on a single point. He felt like he should be moved by it, emotionally touched by the monument. But he wasn't. He felt no grief or sympathy. Nothing. He never understood the need to memorialize such loss. He found it baffling. The CIA shrinks had worried about that, even warned his superiors. But his success rate out in the field kept them from acting, which was ultimately their greatest mistake. Their failure had unleashed a highly trained and unstable individual on the world. Yes. He was aware of his own unstable nature, and it didn't bother him. He embraced it, tapping into the power it gave him.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. Turning his back on the structure, Kilmer reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone as he strolled away, heading back for the Escalade. A grin touched his face as he read the message. Sébastien had come through. Detailed blueprints and codes on the Bunker were on the way. Kilmer tucked his phone back into his pocket and walked over to where Elena Markov was standing, admiring the monument.

"You ready?" he asked.

Elena sipped her coffee and nodded, turning to follow him as they walked down the path towards the tall, imposing structure that loomed over the entire plaza: Kensico Dam.

"I find it amusing that the CIA buried a hidden bunker here," she spoke conversationally. "Valhalla."

"The hamlet's name has nothing to do with it," Kilmer answered gruffly. "It's the Dam."

Elena shook her head, eying him with a bemused look. "You need to loosen up, Ray," she said. "You're too serious."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked on. "We live in serious times," he commented.

Elena just chuckled lightly and inclined her head. "True. But there's no harm in taking a bit of fun from your work."

Cocking his head, he narrowed his eyes as he appraised her relaxed and easy manner. He dipped his head in mild agreement. "Perhaps," he relented.

He allowed her that small victory and he then picked up the pace, heading towards the cluster of cars parked alongside the road. Piotr was leaning against the front hood of the Escalade, finishing off the last of the pastries. The big man looked up at their approach.

"How's our friend?" Kilmer inquired.

Piotr arched his bull neck around and squinted inside. "About ready to wake up, sir," he announced. He glanced back at them, eyes shifting between Kilmer and Elena. "Is it time?"

Kilmer's phone buzzed. That would be the blueprints and codes. He pursed his lips into a thin smile and inclined his head. "It is."

XXX

Beckett stood at the back of the room in the lounge, where McCord's FBI team had set up shop after Captain Donovan and IAB had taken over the conference room. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall. Castle stood by her side, attentive and supportive, a coffee cup in hand. They'd shared sips from it as they waited for the FBI techs to set up the equipment. It had taken time to find a compatible tape player, but thankfully Ryan knew his way around the audio/visual department two floors down and had located a micro-cassette recorder. It then took a handful of minutes for the FBI techs to wire the device up to speakers.

She could feel Castle's eyes on her while they waited. Pressing her lips into a thin line, Beckett tried not to show all the emotions that were roiling up inside her. The past few days had been a rollercoaster, with numerous ups and downs, sharp drops and sudden turns. It was taking all her inner strength to hold it together. Finally, after ten years, she could see a light at the end of the tunnel. It was almost too much to handle. Almost.

Just one thing remained. Proof. And they were all about to hear it, straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

McCord handed the tape to Hendricks, who slid the small cassette into the slot and pressed down, locking it into the player. He pushed the play button, then stepped back, turning the volume up on the speakers. Captain Gates sat off to the side, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable. Beckett had been surprised by her captain's support, assuming that Gates, formerly of Internal Affairs, would have backed Donovan. Instead Gates had backed her play, despite all the evidence stacked against her. If anything, Captain Gates had earned Beckett's respect as a result, and she hoped that in the future she could prove worthy of the trust the captain had shown in her.

The tape crackled to life, the speakers projecting the sounds of footsteps on hardwood floor. A door opened and a few seconds later came the sounds of a chair being pulled out. And then a voice reverberated out of the speakers. Beckett closed her eyes, and listened.

BRACKEN: _Raglan, shut the door. You've got a lot of balls coming here_.

McCord raised her eyebrows, but otherwise remained silent. Gates frowned, and glanced back at Beckett.

"Is that—"

"Senator William Bracken," Beckett confirmed with a nod. "Back when he was still Assistant DA."

She felt her chest clench when another voice spoke from the speaker. Her feelings would always be conflicted, but despite all that he'd done, Roy Montgomery had still been a good man, doing his best to make up for the sins of his youth.

"And that's Montgomery," she added, heart in her throat. Her deceased captain would have to fall on his sword one last time.

MONTGOMERY: _Look, we just want to make sure we're all on the same page_. _You took us for a lot of money, Bracken. We want assurances.  
_BRACKEN: _Hey, be happy I haven't busted the three of you for your little mafia extortion ring.  
_MONTGOMERY: _Whoa, relax.  
_BRACKEN: _No, no. You want assurances? Here you go. I assure you that as easily as I pinned Bob Armen's murder on Pulgatti, I can just as easily pin it on the cops that did the deed._

"My God," Gates gasped, leaning forward in her chair. "Bracken just admitted to blackmail."

Castle nodded, and Beckett thought he was doing a good job of not looking smug. "He sure did."

MONTGOMERY: _Pulgatti knows he's been framed. What if someone gets on to this?  
_BRACKEN: _Then I'll handle them_.  
MONTGOMERY: _You? How?  
_BRACKEN: _I know people, Roy. Dangerous people. Anyone gets too close, like that bitch lawyer Johanna Beckett has been poking around, I'll have them killed. I've had people killed before. Hell, I'll have her killed. Bitch doesn't know what she's stepped in. But don't worry, Roy. She'll go away. I'll make her go away. She's been what… snooping around Washington Heights, right? Ha. Bitch makes it to easy. It'll look like random gang violence. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Raglan will ensure that's how its seen. Case closed. Won't you  
_RAGLAN: _Yes sir_.  
BRACKEN: _See, Roy. Nothing to worry about. It'll all smooth over and we can go on with business as usual._

The conversation continued for some time, but Beckett had already heard what she needed. Proof that William Bracken was the mastermind behind her mother's death. Castle slipped a hand down her back, his touch calm and soothing. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, welcoming it.

"We got him," she murmured.

"We got him," he echoed in a low voice. "It's over."

When the tape finished out, McCord stood up and rubbed her forehead. She glanced at Beckett with undisguised admiration.

"You've got guts, Beckett," she said. "You'd make one hell of an agent."

"Thank you," Beckett said, briefly glancing over at Gates before meeting the Justice Department agent's gaze. "But this is where I belong."

McCord nodded, then turned to Castle. "I underestimated you, Agent Castle, and for that you have my apologies."

Castle just inclined his head.

Pushing up from her seat, Gates strolled over to the tape player. "We'll need to listen to this again. Get it transcribed."  
"I'll see to that," Hendricks assured.

"When can we get a warrant?" Beckett asked. Now that they had the required evidence, she was eager to get it done.

McCord dug her phone out of her pocket. "I'll see to that," she said. "I'm on good terms with most of the judges within this jurisdiction."

"Try Judge Markaway," Castle suggested. "He's a good guy." And then added, glancing towards Beckett, offering a smile and wink. "And he's a friend."

She smiled back, and slipped her hand down to clasp his. Castle squeezed back, lacing their fingers together.

"Right," McCord nodded in response. "Good suggestion." She dialed a number and then held it up to her ear, waiting for an answer. "Yes, this is Agent Rachel McCord out of Justice, I need to speak with Judge Markaway immediately." She strolled away, speaking with authority and command that left Beckett with no doubt they'll have that warrant soon.

Gates stepped up to them and reached out to shake hands with Castle. He grinned happily, accepting the offer. The captain shook her head at his exuberance, but in an indulgent, tolerant way. Gates turned to Beckett, who immediately felt the need to stand at attention. Gates dismissed the act with a wave of her hand.

"You did good work, Detective, under trying conditions," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I may not approve of all the methods used, but in the end, you were proven in the right. Congratulations, Detective."

"Thank you, sir," Beckett answered with a nod.

"Now, it may take us some time to get this all wrapped up and ready, so why don't you and Mr. Castle get some rest," Gates suggested. "You've earned it."

"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather work," Beckett asserted. She'd spent so long working towards this goal not to be a part of the final stretch.

Gates regarded her for a cool minute, before inclining her head in consent. "Very well," she said. "Since I assume you already have a file, it'll help to combine all the evidence together. Detectives Esposito and Ryan can assist."

Beckett smiled, allowing her gratitude to show. "Yes sir. And thank you."

"And me?" Castle chirped up.

Gates raised her eyebrow. "I assumed instruction was unnecessary," she answered. "You'll just follow Detective Beckett whether asked or not."

Beckett stifled a laugh. "She's got you there, Castle."

He huffed, feigning offense. "You wound me, Detective," he declared, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. "But I must admit, the statement is accurate. I'll always follow you."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she strolled out of the lounge, Castle following close behind, leaving a slightly amused Gates in their wake.


	33. Chapter 32

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 32**_

* * *

Two soft pops filled the air, followed by twin thuds as the two men collapsed to the ground. Dead. Elena Markov sauntered forward, an extra sway to her hips as she stalked towards the dead men. Kilmer watched as she bent over them, quickly and efficiently checking their pockets. Straightening, she offered a shake of her head.

Kilmer nodded, pleased they'd dispatched both guards before either could trigger the alarms. Twisting at the waist, he glanced back and gestured for Piotr. The big man emerged from the side door, hauling the sniveling Gavin Huxley out of the stairwell. The man's hair was matted along his sweaty forehead. He stared out with dull eyes around a pallid complexion.

"Soon, my friend," he assured the pale man. A promise.

Huxley merely grunted in reply, swaying on wobbly legs, his feet dragging along the concrete floor as Piotr carried him by the scruff of the neck towards the security station.

Elena flicked her wrist, checking the time. "On schedule."

Kilmer pressed his lips into a thin line as he holstered his weapon and retrieved his phone. His thumb slid across the screen, unlocking the device, and he called up the encrypted email from Sébastien that had the information he wanted to review. There were three ways to enter the Bunker.

1 – The front entrance, where you rode an elevator down.

2 – The loading dock, which was located further down the damn, closer to the water's edge.

Or…

3 – The rarely used emergency exit.

Using Huxley's handprint, they had gained entrance along the side of the dam. Langley was slipping. He always knew they were idiots. The turmoil over Kovaks's death had distracted their focus. The moment Huxley had been taken, the CIA should have locked out all his biometrics, but they'd failed to do so. It had been a gamble, but Kilmer had thought the risk was worth it. And it turned out his hunch was correct. Despite being used by Operation Mongoose, the Bunker was an older facility, and hadn't yet received the major upgrades it should have, leaving some of the security features vulnerable. Security panels, like the one attached to the emergency exit, couldn't be updated remotely, requiring manual installation.

But the blueprints and plans for the facility Sébastien had acquired from Langley's servers were authentic and had so far proved to be accurate.

It was easy. Almost too easy.

"It won't be long before they discover us," Elena had pointed out as they entered the dim stairwell.

"And by that time, it will be too late," Kilmer had insisted.

Yes, it was true, that despite the outdated technology, the security systems could still be monitored remotely, but that didn't concern him in the least. The Agency's attention was elsewhere.

There was a reason he'd outed Simon Brunt, also known as Colin Hunt, or Clover to his Consortium associates. He had known that once captured that coward would cave and start talking, spilling all the secrets entrusted to him, secrets that had now become obsolete with the internal coup and restructuring of the Consortium. Kilmer also knew Brunt would eventually be brought here to the Bunker for further interrogation, because of his links to the Consortium, which was what he had wanted.

It was all going to plan.

Lazarus had unwittingly provided an additional bonus distraction that had pulled Rick Castle, one of the only CIA agents that could have threatened his schemes, away from his goal. Only Jackson Hunt was of more concern, but that legendary agent was old, no real threat in his estimation, ready to be put out to pasture.

"We require passcodes on this one," Elena asserted, snapping Kilmer back to the present.

"I have it," Kilmer announced, reading the information his young hacker had sent.

He stepped aside as Piotr dragged Huxley forward, gripping the man by the back of the neck and holding up his face before the scanner.

"Open your eyes wide, Agent Huxley," Kilmer instructed in a cold voice.

The man complied, and the scanner hummed and buzzed. The screen flashed, requesting a passcode.

Kilmer grabbed Huxley's hand, working the fingers like a puppet to enter in the series of numbers. After two beeps, the audible evidence of the bolts unlocking sounded. Kilmer grinned and nodded to Piotr, who released Huxley. The captured agent crumpled to the floor, landing hand on his knees.

Kilmer casually reached inside his jacket and pulled out his silenced Beretta. "Your services are no longer required, Agent Huxley," he announced, and then put two bullets into the man's skull.

Huxley's body slumped forward, landing hard on the concrete floor. Piotr was already pulling the door open for Kilmer as he holstered his weapon, eyes grim. Elena kept a neutral face as she stepped over the body to join them. Kilmer stood back, watching as she craned her neck, glancing down the spiral flight of stairs that disappeared into the dark void. Pulling back, she appraised him with a bemused look.

"Not afraid of the dark, are you?"  
He grinned, though he didn't feel the emotion behind the gesture, and simply stated in a cool voice, "The dark and I are old friends." Kilmer pulled his gaze away from her beautiful features as he dug his phone out of his pocket. "Go on ahead, I need to make a call."

She eyed him suspiciously for a second, before shrugging her shoulders and starting down the spiraling staircase.

"Boss?" grunted Piotr.

"Go on," Kilmer jerked his head. "Keep an eye on her."  
"Yes, sir," Piotr nodded and trudged towards the steps, his large bulk taking up most of the confined space.

Kilmer narrowed his eyes, and glanced down at his phone. He found himself smirking as he pulled up the address book, scrolling through the contacts. The CIA fools were in for a big surprise. They had no idea what he was capable of.

Smiling to himself, feeling some of the emotion on display, if only in a twisted sort of way, Kilmer selected the desired contact number, and sent the activation code.

XXX

"Coffee?"

Danberg jerked and turned his head, surprised to find Agent Jackson Hunt holding up a mug. He had to blink several times to ensure he wasn't imagining things before accepting the proffered cup.

"Thanks," he acknowledged with a nod, taking a sip of the hot beverage, letting out a sigh as the warmth flowed down his esophagus when he swallowed.

He stared out, through the window, watching and listening to Susan Ortiz coax more details out of Simon Brunt. The Colin Hunt imposter had yielded them quite the bounty of information on the Consortium and its operations in New York City.

Danberg already knew he'd have his hands full investigating at least two deaths. A foreign national by the name Nigel Wyndham, who'd worked at the British Consulate, had hung himself in his office, but apparently that had been staged. There had also a vehicular collision, which resulted in some casualties, that would need to be reviewed. Brunt didn't know how or who killed these men, but he implied that their deaths had been sanctioned by the Consortium to clear the way for the organization to seize control of an arms smuggling ring.

"You really think we'll be able to take down the Consortium with this information?" Danberg asked his superior.

"No," Hunt replied, narrowing his eyes as he glared through the window at Brunt. "But along with what Director York and his team has found on Kovaks's computer, I believe we have a solid shot at dismantling their leadership, which should at least create enough chaos within the organization to give us time to shut down more of their operations."

Danberg glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "Not a very optimistic view, sir."

"I'm a realists, Agent Danberg," Jackson Hunt intoned. "I like to keep my expectations in check."

Feeling bold, Danberg hedged, "Is that why you've never told Castle the truth?"

Hunt's jaw tensed ever so slightly at the mention of his son's name, but before the senior agent could rebuke him, something occurred in the interview room that caught both their attention. Colin Hunt flinched, jerking his head slightly, wincing in pain. It was an odd reaction, as neither Susan Ortiz or any of her men had touched the prisoner. Brunt's eye twitched and he coughed, reaching for the bottled water on the table. When he grabbed it, his body seized, hands shaking. The bottle bounced to the floor, water spilling out.

"Oh fuck me," Colin Hunt doubled over, clutching his middle. "What've you done to me!?"

His face turned red as he strained against the agonizing pain he was experiencing. Susan Ortiz bolted up from her seat, sending the chair crashing to the floor.

"Medics!" she shouted. "We need a medic!"

"Send for one," Hunt ordered the technician seated at the audio and visual station. The agent nodded and reached for a phone.

Back in the interview room, Simon Brunt continued to writhe in pain, cursing. It was like he was having some kind of seizure. Susan glanced back at them through the two-way mirror, brow furrowing, confused. Danberg was as perplexed as she was.

"Oh God," groaned Brunt, clutching his middle. "The bastard. He did something to me."

"What?" Susan questioned, stepping closer to the man, crouching down beside him. "Who did this to you?"

He let out a sharp wail, the veins on his neck flaring as he struggled up to his knees, hands clawing at his throat as if he was choking. "Knave," he hissed through clenched teeth. "The fucker did something to me. I know it."

"What did he do—?" but her question was cut off when the Colin Hunt imposter let out an almost inhuman roar and tore at his shirt, ripping it open down the center. Susan let out a gasp as she stumbled back.

"My God!" Danberg said in alarm, seeing something glowing beneath the skin stretched across Simon Brunt's abdomen. They'd played right into Kilmer's hands.

Realization came to Colin Hunt's taut face, and his eyes went wide in horror as he glanced up to meet Susan's quickly horrified gaze.

"No, no, no." He started to shake back and forth.  
Jerking towards Jackson Hunt, Danberg saw that the senior agent already had his phone out and was dialing.

"This was his plan," Danberg realized. "Kilmer wanted us to bring Brunt here."

Jackson Hunt nodded, grabbing Danberg's arm and pulling him back from the observation window. "It's too late to stop it," he was saying. "We can't contain the—"

The rest of his words were left unsaid as a blast erupted out from the interview room, shattering the glass and exploding the concrete walls, and throwing both men back against the opposite wall.

XXX

He was getting restless. Was this really what police work was like? He honestly did not know how Kate managed. It was so boring. Rick Castle was a field agent. He was used to a fast pace work environment, where he had to think on his feet or he'd be dead. He didn't know why he'd ever assumed detective work would be the same. Clearly his Nikki Heat stories weren't all that accurate, what with all the running around, gun battles, and sex. As he pondered this, Beckett came back from the printer with a stack of papers. She sat down and added them to the growing evidence binder she was assembling.

"Kate," he hissed, easily gaining her attention. "Is this really what police work is?"

She nodded. "Paperwork is a big part, yes," she confirmed.

"But… it's boring."

He watched her eyes light up with mirth as she worked to suppress a smirk. "Not everyone runs around having gun battles and sex all the time," she said.

"Whoa!" he sat back, eyes wide. He leaned back in, squinting his eyes into slits as he scrutinized her face. "When did you get the ability to read minds?"

She did laugh this time. "When it comes to you, Castle," she said with a wide grin. "It's not that hard."

"Oh yes… you get me hard, baby, all right."

"Castle!" she gasped, cheeks flaring pink. Beckett waved her hand to silence him, glancing nervously around the bullpen. "Shh. Don't say things like that here. I have to work with these people."

"Oh, and all because you're a cop doesn't mean you have a sex life?"

"Well, no, of course not, but you don't know how ha—," she paused, reevaluated her word usage and corrected it, "—how difficult it is to be a woman in a male dominated field. I had to work twice as hard to gain the same amount of respect."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sweet cheeks, you know I can't help myself around you," he defended.

She rolled her eyes, but it was in an affectionate manner, with only mild annoyance. He grinned back and waggled his eyebrows. Beckett pursed her lips, trying to suppress a matching smile.

"Look, I'm almost done here, and McCord should have that warrant soon, so it won't be too much longer," she said. Her eyes went serious.

Castle reached out and placed his hand atop hers. She glanced down and flipped her hand palm up, allowing him to interlace their fingers.

"I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again," he said, slowly rubbing the pad of his thumb across the top of her hand. "You're extraordinary."

She blushed. "Castle."

"It's true," he insisted. "Look at you. You're hours away from arresting the bastard who ordered the death of your mother, having spent the last few days on the run when you were framed for a murder you did not commit, survived a harrowing undercover operation where you were tortured and nearly killed… all of this in a span of a week… less than. And here you are, still able to laugh and smile while your ruggedly handsome boyfriend annoys you. Just accept it, Kate Beckett," he crooned. "You are extraordinary."

"Castle," she shook her head, stubbornly unwilling to accept his praise. She bit her lower lip, the flush to her cheeks only serving to make her more beautiful in his eyes. "You're only seeing the surface," she tried to explain. "A front. A mask. Something I've perfected over of the years."

"I don't think that's it," he disagreed.

"I know, but you're not exactly unbiased."

"True," he admitted. "Still—"

His argument was interrupted by the buzz of his cellphone. He grumbled. Holding up a finger, and giving Beckett a pointed look so that she knew this conversation wasn't over, Castle reached inside his jacket and produced the TCD-74. He flipped it open and frowned when he saw the caller I.D. displayed on the small screen. Groaning, he scrubbed a hand down his face as Beckett glanced at him with a puzzled look.

"What?" she questioned.

"It's York," Castle held up the phone so she could see.

"So?"

"I haven't checked in yet," he explained. "I should've done that after we listened to the tape. But…" he trailed off as he caught sight of her disapproving look.

"Answer the phone, Castle," she instructed.

He gulped and feigned a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Castle grinned as Beckett stifled an eyeroll and turned back to her work. Pushing up from his seat, he pressed the answer button and held the flip phone up to his ear.

"Sir, sorry, I know, I know… I should have—"

"_No time for that, Castle_," York interrupted in a hurried tone. "_We have a problem_."

"Sir?"

"_The Bunker went dark_," the NCS Director explained. "_We don't know why. Our remote connections have been severed, and communications are down. We can't reach anyone inside_."

His heartrate quickened in alarm. "Danberg took Colin Hunt there, right?"

"_Affirmative_," York confirmed. "_I'm waiting for a report from local authorities, but they're busy with some festival, and I can't be any more specific with them least I reveal the presence of the Bunker, which the Director wants to remain classified_."

There was a pause, and Castle paced through the bullpen. His anxious posture had garnered the attention of his girlfriend, who glanced up from her desk with a wrinkled brow, her eyes full of questions. Castle ceased his pacing, and took a deep breath.

"Sir?"

"_We think it's Kilmer_," York said. "_I just got confirmation that Agent Gavin Huxley's biometric data was used to clear security through the emergency exit_."

"Shit," Castle hissed, carding a hand through his hair. "What can I do?"  
"_You volunteering?_"

"I'm the closest agent available with the proper security clearance and knowledge of the facility," Castle insisted. "A TACT team would take too long to assemble."

York grunted out an agreement, though he didn't seem happy about it. "_Fine, okay_," he decided. "_I'm sending a chopper. It should be at your location in ten minutes. They'll pick you up on the roof_." He paused for a millisecond. "_I'd ask you to keep me informed, but I know that isn't your style. Get in, assess the problem, and deal with the intruder_."

"Sir…," Castle hedged, flicking his eyes down to look at Kate, seeing her chewing on her lower lip as she listened to his side of the conversation. "If it is _him_, what are my orders?"

York blew out a breath. "_You have authorization to terminate_."

York disconnected the call, and Castle swallowed passed the lump that had formed in his throat. His eyes drifted to Kate as she got up from her chair and stood in front of him. This was it. He could feel it in his very bones. Kilmer was making his final move.

"Castle?" Beckett inquired, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Kilmer's at the Bunker," Castle blurted out, heedless of revealing top secret information to his girlfriend. "I'm sorry, Kate. I gotta go."

He leaned forward, pressed quick kiss to her lips and then moved to step way, but Beckett didn't let go of his arm. Her grip tightened and she held him back.

"I'm coming with you," she said. "I heard what you said to York, Castle. It'll take too long for a TACT team to gear up. You'll need back up."

Castle opened his mouth, wanting to argue, insist she stay and finish up all the paperwork she'd need to put Bracken away for good, that this wasn't her fight, but as he stared back at her, seeing the determined set to her brow and jaw, he knew such an endeavor would be futile. He sighed, and relented with a nod. She offered him a soft smile and squeezed his arm in reassurance, before disengaging and retreating back to her desk. Beckett bent down, opened a drawer and removed her department issued Glock, easily sliding it home into its holster.

"Just let me inform Gates," Beckett said.

He nodded. "I'll tell McCord," he answered. "Meet me on the roof."

"The roof?" her nose wrinkled adorably.

"The roof," he confirmed with a nod. "York's sending a helicopter to take us to Valhalla."

"Valhalla," Beckett repeated, her eyebrows knitting together. "Castle, you're confusing me. I thought we were going to the Bunker."

"We are," he stated with a grin. "Valhalla is a hamlet of Mount Pleasant. The Bunker is located under Kensico Dam."

She rolled her eyes. "Then why didn't you just say so?"  
He shrugged. "I like messing with you."

"Castle." She sighed, shaking her head. "You're lucky you're cute," she asserted, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Now, I'll go tell Gates we need to leave. Don't worry," she held up a hand to forestall him. "I know it's top secret. I'll make up something."

He nodded. "Good girl."

Giving him a disapproving look for that moniker, Beckett brushed past him and stalked towards Captain Gates's office. Rolling his shoulders, Castle sobered quickly and went to speak with McCord, hoping he could convince the Federal agent to hold off on serving the warrant on Bracken until Beckett was able to assist in the arrest. He owed her that much. And more. So much more.


	34. Chapter 33

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 33**_

* * *

Soaring above the city of White Plains in a government issued black helicopter, Detective Kate Beckett worked at going through the breathing exercises Dr. Burke had taught her. It was difficult enough with the deafening roar of the rotors above their heads without also thinking about what might await them in the CIA facility known as the Bunker. Castle had given her a quick rundown of the facility, how it had been abandoned for years until NCS Director Samson York and Senior Agent Jackson Hunt had appropriated it for their investigation into the Consortium, eventually receiving official authorization to form Operation Mongoose from CIA Director Joseph Reynolds.

"If this is Kilmer, how do you think he bypassed security to get in?" she'd asked, curious.

Castle had narrowed his gaze and frowned. "The Bunker is old, some of its security systems haven't yet been upgraded with modern technology and equipment," he had explained. "York said Huxley's biometric data was used to bypass the security through the emergency exit. That's most likely where he gained entrance."

"Huxley had been captured, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then why hadn't his security access been revoked and passcodes blocked?"

"They had," he'd sighed. "For HQ and other facilities. But, in order for Operation Mongoose to investigate the Consortium, we needed the Bunker to be sort of kept off the grid, so to speak. A secure connection was kept with Langley, but not other facilities. As a result, the emergency exit system at the Bunker, while able to be monitored remotely, hadn't yet received an upgrade to provide Langley with a direct connection to the panel, so any update of the security protocols would have had to be done manually, in person, by one of our techs."

"That's a serious flaw," Beckett had pointed out.

"Tell me about it."

"You think he knew?"

"Kilmer?"

She'd nodded.

"Most likely," Castle had concurred.

It was disturbing, and somewhat worrying, that an agency like the CIA, charged with gathering information and covertly defending the United States from its enemies, would leave such a vital access point on one of their most top secret facilities so vulnerable. She hoped they rectified such mistakes in the future. Though hopefully after today, they wouldn't have to worry about Raymond Kilmer anymore.

Beckett blinked back into the present, glancing over at her boyfriend, observing his tense posture and the hard set to his handsome features. She reached over and placed a hand on his knee, giving the bone a gentle squeeze.

His eyes flicked up to hers.

"Yes?" his voice held a strained quality through the speakers on her headset.

She squeezed his knee once more, trying to reassure him. "We'll get him, Rick," she asserted.

Castle knitted his eyebrows together and bobbed his head, before offering her a confident smile. She couldn't tell if it was feigned or not, such was his acting ability. His mother would be proud.

He placed a hand over hers and squeezed in return. "Once we've dealt with Kilmer, we'll deal with Bracken. And then this all will finally be over," he promised.

She pursed her lips and nodded, hoping his words turned prophetic.

The whine of the motors overhead informed them that the helicopter was preparing to descend. Beckett held her breath, feeling her heart thump profoundly beneath her breast as the aircraft took a sharp turn. She arched her neck and looked down through the window, seeing the gleaming spiral of steel rods shooting up into the air that formed the 9/11 memorial monument known as _The Rising_. Beside it, looming over a patch of green space was the solid gray slab of concrete that was the Kensico Dam, the dark blue waters of the reservoir stretching out far beyond.

"This is it," Castle's voice echoed over the speakers in the headset. "We'll have to enter the same way Kilmer did. It's safe to assume that when communications went dark, the facility also went into lockdown. Here's where that lack of direct connection comes in handy, making the emergency exit as the only viable method of ingress."

The helicopter cut over the green fields and trees, starting its descent. They bounced around in the backseat as the CIA pilot lowered them towards the ground. Castle clutched her hand, interlocking their fingers. She held on until the chopper safely touched down on a grassy field.

The pilot gave them a thumbs up, and Castle nodded, unfastening his restraints while she unbuckled hers at the same time. She removed the headset and stowed it into the storage compartment. Castle hopped out first, ducking his head down. He turned back and offered her a hand. She accepted as she climbed down, releasing a breath once her feet touched the grass, suddenly realizing how pleased she was to once more be on solid ground.

"This way," Castle shouted over the rotors, keeping his head ducked down as the blades continued to spin above their heads.

He grabbed her hand and they rushed across the opened field as the helicopter rose back up into the sky and banked left, disappearing over the treetops.

XXX

Castle hustled along the looming wall of concrete, moving at a quick clip, Beckett keeping pace beside him. He'd never used the emergency access to exit or enter the facility. It was rarely used, which was why there hadn't been a high priority on modernizing the security systems attached to it. Besides, there were always two agents on guard duty at all times. Even he'd been set on the rotation, at least twice. It was a dull and boring assignment. He'd been paired with Kyle Lynden, who was too green and eager for Castle's liking. The kid wouldn't stop asking him questions.

"Here," he cut across the grass, heading for what looked like a gas meter. He flipped the cover off and turned a knob. Within moments a panel was shifting back and a screen slid forward into the empty space.

Beckett blinked.

He grinned back at her and winked. "You ain't seen nothing yet, sweet cheeks," Castle declared as he pressed his palm to the scanner. There was a buzz and hum as the palm was scanned and analyzed. An electronic chimed informed him that his identity had been verified. The screen flashed, requesting a passcode. Castle hesitated, frowning.

"I'm waiting," Beckett prodded, suppressing an amused smile.

Annoyed, Castle scowled down at the screen, searching his memory banks for the code. He'd always come through the front entrance, and for that he'd go through the check point maned by CIA personnel who knew him. Biometric data was collected there. They'd never required a passcode.

Glancing back at Beckett's expectant look, Castle shrugged, and figured he might as well just go with the only passcode he'd ever used in the Bunker. Biting the inside of his cheek, not sure it would work, Castle pressed in his security passcode for the operations center.

After several agonizing seconds, though it felt longer, the panel chimed in approval, and slid back into place. He closed the gas meter cover over it, and stepped back as the clunk and thuds of bolts unlocking resounded out of the concrete wall. With a grounding noise of stone against stone, an obscured doorway swung open, revealing a flight of stairs the went downward into the darkness.

Castle arched his neck back at Beckett and smirked. "Ladies first."

"Not funny," she said, giving him a taste of her infamous glare.

Castle shrugged and reached down to retrieve his Sig Sauer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beckett do the same with her Glock. He shifted into a defensive stance and inched forward, peering down into the opened access. Jerking his head back to look at Beckett, he met her eyes.

"Follow my lead," he instructed.

She nodded. And together, they entered the Bunker.

XXX

The device planted into Clover during one of his routine 'check ups' with a Consortium approved doctor had worked as expected. All it had taken was a small bribe. Another example of inherent flaws within the original structure of the Consortium. He didn't mind it too much, as this time it had worked in his favor. The blast had succeeded in knocking out both external and internal communications, effectively cutting off the Bunker from the outside world. And help. Clover had fulfilled his purpose.

Kilmer grunted as he pulled a bullet riddled body of a dead agent off the computer terminal and rolled him towards the floor. He squinted and pursed his lips, scowling. Sparks flew up from the exposed circuitry and fizzled. The station was too damage from the gun fight. The zap of kinetic energy still buzzed in the room, though the air was cold and stale, recycled. Glancing up, he scanned the operations center. One of the large screens on the wall was cracked, veins stretching out from where a bullet had penetrated the screen. Another screen flickered with static. Moving away, the Knave stepped over the body and checked the next computer station.

He ran his fingers over the keyboard, pleased to see responses to his commands on the computer screen. "This one will do," he announced, meeting Elena's frustrated gaze.

"We're wasting our time, Knave," she snapped, yanking her switchblade out of the chest of one of the other agents guarding the operations center. "We should confirm Clover's death and get out of here. Langley will have a TACT team in route."

Kilmer shook his head. "Oh, there's no doubt Clover is dead. What we have here is far more valuable than confirmation of that."

"And that is?" she persisted, flicking her blade around in her hands before locking it back into place.

Kilmer made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire room. "Information," he declared. "The Chairman will want to know how much the CIA has gathered on the Consortium's operations. This was the plan all along. Clover's death was just an added bonus."

Elena let out a grunt of displeasure. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

He eyed her with a cold stare, but did not answer. Snapping his fingers, he held out a hand and Piotr rumbled over, handing him a silver jump drive. Kilmer plugged it into the USB port and activated the download program.

"Boss, what of them?" Piotr asked, jerking his chin towards the group of CIA analysts cowering along the way.

Kilmer didn't even bother looking in their direction. "We don't need them," he asserted. "Kill them."

Shouts and protests, desperate pleas, erupted from that side of the room. Piotr, like the loyal soldier he was, removed his gun and finished them off, a single bullet for each, cool and efficient. Elena Markov stood off to the side and folded her arms across her chest, looking displeased.

"We could have questioned them," she insisted when Piotr was finished.

Kilmer shook his head, eyes still locked on the computer screen, watching the download progress bar as it moved slow but steady towards completion. "Unnecessary," he asserted in a confident voice. "This is all we need."

XXX

"Stay behind me."

Beckett nodded. There was little light in the stairwell, so she kept close, to the wall, watching with alert eyes as Castle grabbed the handle of the door and gently pushed it open. He did a quick scan of the immediate vicinity before ducking back in.

"Clear."

She followed him out into the opened space beyond, needing to blink her eyes to adjust in the sudden change in the overhead lighting. Arching her neck, she glanced up at the ceiling.

"Well, at least the power is still on," she offered.

Castle inclined his head. "This way."

Holding her Glock at ease, but still prepared to raise it if necessary, Beckett followed Castle towards the opposite end of the large rectangle shaped room where a heavy metal door stood. A security station was position off to the side, and she froze, seeing three bodies. Two men laid crumpled on the floor, each with a single bullet in the head. Castle let out a curse.

"Cheung and Garza," he hissed. "They were good men. Good agents."

"Sorry," she said, wishing there was more she could say. Judging by the flash of emotion across his face, he'd known them well, and their deaths pained him. That was one thing she'd learn during their time together. Richard Castle felt things deeply.

His face hardened with resolve and he nodded, stepping over the dead agents to crouch before the third body, which was lying face first on the concrete floor. With a mild grunt, Castle rolled the man over and sat back, shaking his head.

"Who is it?" Beckett asked, curious.

"Huxley," Castle replied with a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face as he stood up. "I guess his usefulness to Kilmer was at an end."

Deciding it was best not to say anything, Beckett stood back as Castle rose back up to his feet. There was something different about him right now. His jovial nature seemed to have submerged, hidden itself away. What remained was a hard edge that was lethal and exact. It was actually kind of hot. But now wasn't the time for those kinds of thoughts, so Beckett stifled it down.

"This way," Castle jerked his chin towards the metal door.

He pressed his hand to the palm scanner, and they waited for the device to authenticate his hand print. Just as with the security panel outside, a passcode was requested. Castle's fingers flew across the screen, and a series of clunks followed, indicating the locks and unbolted. Castle withdrew his Sig Sauer and glanced through the opening.

Beckett lingered behind while he scouted ahead. She found herself staring down at the dead bodies, unable to stop from wondering about who they were? What their lives were outside the scope of the CIA? If they even had lives outside the Agency's grasp. Castle seemed to have some sort of balance that allowed him to live in both worlds, but even she wasn't so naïve as to believe that could last forever. She knew Castle was going to have to make a choice soon, and it gnawed at her wondering what he would decide. He was so good at his job. She loved him, wanted him. But if the CIA needed him to help protect their country from all the dangers out there, she didn't know if she could stop him. It wouldn't be right. She'd feel selfish asking him to give it all up for her.

"It's clear," Castle ducked his head back in and gestured her over.

Shaking her head clear of her roaming thoughts, Beckett stepped around the bodies to join him at the door. She tightened her grip on her Glock, and followed behind him as they climbed down a spiraling set of stairs that disappeared down into the dark void beneath.

XXX

The first thing he noticed was an agonizing throbbing pain emanating from the back of his head. Groaning, Danberg slowly sat up, gently rubbing the tender spot on the back of his skull. Debris and rubble shifted about him as he sat up. A fine layer of dust covered his suit and skin. He coughed and shook his head.

"Hunt?"

"I'm here," Jackson Hunt grunted. "I think my arm is broken."

"What the hell just happened?" Danberg questioned, blinking his eyes through the gloom, trying to locate the senior agent. He saw him, slumped against the wall, not far from where he'd landed.

"Trojan Horse," Hunt spoke with clenched teeth, gritting through the pain.

Danberg pursed his lips and pushed up, debris shifting around him as he moved. He patted himself down and was relieved that despite a few bumps and bruises, he was fine. He worked his way around the rubble until he could see Jackson Hunt. The legendary agent hadn't fared as well. The older man must have regained consciousness sooner, as he'd already secured a makeshift sling around his right arm, clutching it to his chest. The cuts and bruises on his face were more severe as well, bits of mirrored glass had been caught in the stock of white hair adorning his crown.

"Help me up," Hunt ordered.

Danberg grabbed hold of the man's good arm and hauled him back up to his feet. Hunt clutched Danberg's shoulder for support as he shifted slightly on his legs, wobbling for a second or two before regaining his balance.

"The power still seems on," Danberg announced as he glanced out of the room. "Though the explosion would have triggered the automatic lockdown."

He shuffled through the debris, shoving aside a shattered chair and blocks of concrete, bending over to check for a pulse on the audio/visual technician he found underneath. When Jackson Hunt looked his way, Danberg shook his head. The tech was gone. Arching his neck up, he glanced through the gaping hole where the interview room had once been. Susan and her men were gone. As was Simon Brunt, who'd unknowingly been carrying a bomb inside his stomach.

"It's not that bad," Hunt asserted in an almost cool manner that had Danberg's hackles rising. "All things considered."

"_All things considered_," Danberg spat back, pointing violently at the devastation. "Susan was in that room! Chavez and Witcomb. Jacobs."

Hunt met his angry glare with a calm stare. "Casualties happen in war, son. And don't try and deny that we are at war with the Consortium. Because we are."

Danberg scowled and averted his gaze, staring hard at the rubble carpeting the floor. He just wasn't angry, but also embarrassed. It was like the Consortium—_Kilmer_—had caught the entire CIA with their pants down. Shoving down his own feelings, he dug into his pockets, searching for his phone.

"Communications will be down," Hunt informed him when he saw what he was doing. "You're cellphone won't work."

With a sigh, he dropped his phone back into his pocket, before remembering. He held up a finger. "Not with this," he asserted, rummaging around until he produced a TCD-74.

Hunt's eyes went wide at the sight of the archaic looking flip phone. "Where'd you get that?"

"Requisitions had a few tucked away in storage," Danberg explained, flipping the device open. "Castle sings their praises all the time, I thought it prudent to secure one as a backup."

Hunt regarded him for a long beat, and then nodded approvingly. "Good thinking."

Pressing a series of numbered buttons, Danberg opted to try a direct call first, before resorting to text messaging, if necessary. He let out a relieved breath when it started to ring.

"_Hello?_" came a cautious voice.

Danberg brightened. "Castle, it's Danberg," he said hurriedly.

"_Damn, it's good to hear your voice_," Castle answered. "_I was worried. Where are you?_"

"In Observation Room C, with Hunt… er… Agent Hunt."

"_What happened to the other one?_" Castle asked.

"He's dead," Danberg informed him. "He was the source of the blast."

"_There was an explosion!? And that bastard was that source!_" Castle exclaimed. "_Wait… you can explain later. We're on our way_."

"We?"

"_Kate's with me_," Castle said. "_We're just reaching Level 2. Should be at your position in five_."

"Good."

"_See you soon_," Castle then disconnected.

Danberg shut the flip phone and slid it back into his pocket. He glanced at Agent Hunt, who stood off to the side, cradling his injured arm and waiting.

"Castle's on the way," he said.

"And he's not alone," Hunt commented, knitting his eyebrows together.

"Um… yeah, Detective Kate Beckett is with him."

Hunt gritted his teeth and growled, shaking his head in disapproval. "She shouldn't be here. She doesn't have clearance."

"Yeah, well, Castle brought her and we're in no position to object," Danberg pointed out.

Hunt made a grunt of acknowledgment. "Fine. Under the circumstances, I guess I can allow it. But only because of our current dire predicament."

Danberg just inclined his head, knowing it was futile arguing with the senior agent when he'd already stated their inability to decline assistance, from whatever source. Besides, if he knew Castle as well as he thought, there was nothing Jackson Hunt or even Director Samson York, for that matter, could have said that would have prevented Castle from doing whatever it was he wanted to do. The man was stubborn like that.

And sometimes, that was a good thing.

XXX

"Why is this taking so long?" Elena demanded, irritation showing in her body language as she paced back and forth on the command platform in the operations center.

"It's a lot of files," Kilmer said, calmly reclined in the seat in front of the computer terminal. "Relax. The TACT team won't be here for another hour or two. York and Hunt picked this facility because of its relative isolation from the rest of the CIA."

He watched her with narrowed eyes, wondering if now would be an appropriate time to eliminate the competition. Truth was, he had no idea what the response time would be for the CIA's TACT team in regards to the Bunker. And frankly, he didn't care. In fact, he'd welcome some action. He hated sitting still and waiting. Sébastien had promised him that the retrieval program was the fastest he'd ever written, so he'd just have to trust on that. Besides, what he'd said was true. There was a lot of files. He was downloading the entirety of Operation Mongoose's database. Even he knew that such a task would take time.

Still… He regarded the attractive Elena Markov as she huffed and resumed her pacing. Perhaps this delay would be beneficial. He wouldn't be terribly upset if the CIA response team stormed in and during the crossfire the Swan took a bullet. No. That wouldn't be too bad at all.

"Sir!" Piotr hollered from the security station he'd placed the man at. "We have movement in the stairwell."

Kilmer leaned back. "Put it up on the central monitor."

"Um…," the big man glanced down at the computer console in front of him. "How'd I do that?"

Elena growled, and stalked over, shoving Piotr's beefy paws out of the way, seizing control of the station. She worked the mouse and then punched in the appropriate keys. Soon the large monitor in front flickered, the image somewhat distorted by the bullet hole and the spiderweb of cracks that burst out from it. Kilmer stood slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at the security camera footage.

"Castle and his bitch cop," he scowled.

"They're still alive," remarked Elena, quirking up an eyebrow. "Impressive."

"Not much longer," Kilmer asserted. "Piotr!"

"Sir!"

"Go take care of them," he ordered, glancing back at the screen and watching their progression through the hallways. "They're headed towards the interview rooms on Level 2."

"Sir," Piotr grabbed his shotgun, and stomped on his way, stopping to bend down and retrieve one of the handguns from the agents guarding the operations center for use as a backup weapon.

Elena bounced on the balls of her feet. "I should go with him."

Kilmer considered, then relented with a nod of his head. Smiling with delight, Elena checked the mag in her Beretta before hurrying off to join the hulking brute. Kilmer leaned back in the chair, a thin grin working its way across his face. Hopefully they'd kill each other, leaving him without any baggage to lug out once the download was complete.

Yes, he decided, that would be great.


	35. Chapter 34

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 34**_

* * *

She stood back, feeling out of place as the three agents huddled together and discussed the situation.

When they'd met up with them, Danberg had offered her a friendly smile and handshake, which she reciprocated. She liked Castle's friend, even if he'd pulled the plug on her initial interview of Colin Hunt back before the whole craziness that was that busted undercover assignment.

_Wow_, she thought, _that had only been two days ago?_

It was startling to realize that it had only been a short time since Agent McCord had requested her participation in the operation. Things had spiraled since then. She had only just recently found herself cleared of murder charges, having been labeled a fugitive by a rogue IAB captain. This week had been hectic. It was difficult to think back on. It all just seemed to blend together.

Danberg hadn't been alone in the ruined room. The other agent, an older man with a stock of white hair over rugged features that were strangely familiar, hadn't been as friendly as Agent Danberg. The senior man had merely appraised her with a cool stare and a mild look of displeasure at her presence.

Beckett could take a hint. So, she kept her distance and left the CIA officers to their plans. If they wanted to include her, they would. She couldn't deny she was a little disappointed that Castle hadn't insisted on her participation, but he wasn't her boyfriend right now. No. At present, he was CIA Officer Richard Castle, locked into business mode… or what passed for that in the spy world. Castle was a man of many facets. If it wasn't for the circumstances, she'd find it all very fascinating, but instead she found it extremely frustrating.

She didn't come with him to be left out and brushed aside. She wanted to help.

Sighing, Beckett dragged her gaze away from the trio, her eyes lingering on the gaping hole that had once been an interrogation room, filled with rubble and debris. She tried not to think about who was buried underneath it all and her belief that he'd got off easy. It was almost hard to believe that the Consortium had managed to plant an explosive device inside Colin Hunt's body without the man's knowledge. Almost. But from what she'd learned about the clandestine organization, and seeing as they willingly associated with a psychopath like Raymond Kilmer, it really didn't surprise her. She absently wondered if all the evil cabal's assets had bombs planted on their persons.

Shaking her head, Beckett looked away and frowned. She paced around the cramped observation room, which was also covered in debris from the blast. An audio/video station was damaged beyond repair, and the body of the tech who'd manned the computer terminal was still visible, half buried under the concrete rubble. Her heart clenched at the sight, and she glanced back up at the three agents, both amazed and appalled they could all stand here while one of their own was lying there dead. She supposed it was something they were used to. They would all need to be somewhat desensitized in their line of work.

Turning, Beckett stopped, catching sight of movement in the corner of her eye. Cocking her head, she swept her gaze back towards the ruined interrogation room. Her eyebrows shot up in alarm when she spotted it.

"Grenade!" she shouted, already diving for cover.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the cylindrical object bounced and rolled along the rubble before spinning to a stop. Seconds later a bright flash of white light engulfed her vision, temporarily blinding her.

Beckett groped around, reaching for her Glock, but a beefy hand grabbed her from behind, yanking her back. She struggled, swinging her elbow back into hard muscle. The grip holding her tightened and she was flung into the air like a ragdoll. She struck the wall hard, knocking the wind from her lungs.

Her body curled in on itself, and she groaned through a fit of coughs. She suppressed the ache in her back and rolled onto her feet. Blinking furiously, Beckett's vision started to return, blurry at first. A large, hulking brute loomed over her, grinning wickedly. He was hefting a shotgun in one large hand, turning it towards her.

She tensed, preparing for the end.

However, through her clearing vision, she gleamed a figure with a stock of white hair emerged from the right, swinging his good arm in a strike that knocked the massive brute's aim off. The buckshot sprayed into the wall, barely missing her.

"Move!" Agent Jackson Hunt yelled.

And she did, without hesitation. But instead of doing what she knew he'd expected, which was flee, Beckett dove into the fight. She launched herself at the big man, ramming her fist into his solar plexus. The brute stumbled back a few steps, caught off guard by her assault, but otherwise seemed unfazed by the blow. He arched his thick neck down and grinned.

"Feisty!" he approved with glee.

Hunt took the opportunity to sweep in with an upper cut to the man's jaw. Again, the brute seemed completely unfazed by the blow. He fisted a beefy hand and punched Jackson Hunt hard in the gut, sending the older man sprawling to the floor, coughing. Beckett sidestepped the next swing, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her veins pumped with adrenaline, giving her much needed fuel. She dodged a series of swings, ducking in to deliver a number of useless strikes at the man's upper torso. Despite his heft, all of it was hard, solid muscle. She gritted her teeth.

Damn. He was a beast, but not indestructible. David, after all, slew Goliath.

Using her smaller size and speed to her advantage, Beckett avoided most of his swipes at her, hoping to tire him out. Unfortunately, she was still a little dazed herself from the flash bang. Fainting to the left, her foot snagged on a bit of cracked concrete and she tripped. The bull of a man seized upon it, dropping a heavy fist against her back to propel her hard into the ground.

The air expelled from her lungs as she hit the floor. She clenched her teeth and let out a hiss, feeling the skin on her palms scrape against the rough surface. The brute towered over her, moving with purpose. He bent down and grabbed the back of her neck in one large palm. Without much effort, he lifted her up into the air. Her feet kicked wildly in the air, useless and helpless.

"Castle!" he called, voice thick with a smug arrogance.

It was only then that she noticed her boyfriend locked in a fierce standoff with Elena Markov. Beckett gasped, mouth dropping, eyes going wide. The man's grip on her neck was strong, leaving her immobile. She couldn't even struggle against it. Castle let out a curse, freezing in place, Sig Sauer halfway out of his holster. Behind him Danberg was laid out on the floor, stunned, shaking his head, trying to stagger back up to his feet.

Elena threw a smirk over her shoulder, her eyes alight with mirth. "Detective Beckett, a pleasure to see you again," she announced. Her eyes flicked to the brute. "Nicely done, Piotr."

Piotr inclined his head. "I've got your woman, Castle," he announced. "Drop the weapon."

Castle hesitated. Piotr squeezed his hand tighter around her neck and Beckett felt her throat constrict painfully, making her choke. She tried to suck in a breath on instinct, but couldn't. As a result, she was unable to prevent the spread of panic through her body.

"Do it," Piotr said. "Or I snap her pretty neck."

Elena cocked her head back to Castle. "You should listen to him," she recommended, taking the opportunity to withdraw her pistol and train it on him. "Try anything, and you're both dead."

Castle's eyes jerked from Beckett towards Elena, to Piotr, and then back to Beckett. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Jackson Hunt slammed into Elena Markov, knocking her off her feet. Castle moved as fast as a whip, raising his SIG Sauer and pulling the trigger.

The grip on her neck loosened immediately and she was freed from the brute's grasp. She landed on wobbly legs, chest heaving with each desperate gasp of air. Her knees immediately gave out and she fell to the floor, rolling onto her side and blinking as she stared ahead, seeing the dull, lifeless eyes of the hulking brute who'd threatened her, a thin line of blood trailing down from a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

Castle was by her side in seconds. "Kate! Are you okay?"

She sucked in a deep breath, her eyes flailing around the room as oxygen was restored to her aching lungs. Her sight landed on Elena Markov. The woman had shook off Jackson Hunt and was shoving her way towards the door. Beckett barely had enough energy to point.

"Elena," she wheezed.

Castle jerked his head, just seeing the assassin stumble through the doorway and make her escape. He turned back to Beckett, and ran a comforting hand down her side.

"It's okay," he asserted. "She's not going anywhere with the Bunker in lockdown."

Her chest heaved as she refilled her lungs, but she managed a nod.

"They're probably in the operations center," Danberg commented from behind Castle. "Besides eliminating Simon Brunt, the only other reason for this incursion would be for the files in our secured database."

Castle nodded. "Kilmer would want to know what we know."

"We have to stop him," Jackson Hunt said, full of authority and command. "The Consortium cannot get their hands on our intel."

Beckett watched as Castle eyes narrowed and he breathed through his nostrils. He reached for her hand and offered her a reassuring squeeze. "They won't," he announced, planting a hand on his knee as he pushed back up to his feet. "Because I'm going to stop them."

With some effort, Beckett worked her throat and swallowed. "Not alone," she croaked out, throat still raw from the pressure Piotr had put on it.

Castle shook his head as he stared down at her. "Kate," he sighed as she struggled up to her feet, gripping his arm for support. "You can barely stand."

"I'm going with you!" she insisted with a fierce hiss, eyes hard and unyielding.

Danberg cocked his head and smirked. He glanced towards Hunt. "I told you she was tenacious."

Hunt grunted. "You'll need help," he said, though sounding displeased. "And I'm in no condition to assist."

"I'm with you too," Danberg added.

Castle nodded. Beckett could tell that having the other agent tag along alleviated some of his concern, though he still glanced at her with a wariness that annoyed her.

"Kate?" he questioned softly.

She met his eyes, firm and fierce. "I'm good to go, Castle," she insisted, hating the scratchy rawness of her voice. "I'm in this. You're not getting rid of me now."

He heaved in a deep breath and agreed with a reluctant nod.

"It's settled then," Hunt said gruffly.

"Do you have a plan?" Castle asked the senior agent.

He squinted his eyes and nodded. "You three head for the operations center," Hunt laid out his scheme. "I'll go for the control room on this level and cut the power. Backup systems will come back in thirty seconds."

Castle scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "That's not enough time."

"It's all I can give you."

"We'll take it," Beckett announced before Castle could say anything more. Hunt glanced at her with narrowed eyes. She stared right back.

"Sounds like a plan," Danberg interjected, breaking the silence.

"Yes," Castle concurred, squeezing Beckett's hand.

"Okay," she said, stepping away from him, pleased to find her balance restored. She meandered around until she spotted her Glock in the rubble, feeling his eyes on her as she bent to pick it up. "Stop staring at my ass, Castle. We've got a psycho to take down."

XXX

NCS Director Samson York hustled down the hallway, Delia leading the way with two other agents rushing to keep up with them. He held his phone in front of him, staring intently at the screen. The satellite image kept refreshing every few seconds. Agent Castle and Detective Beckett should be inside the Bunker by now. He'd seen the helicopter land in green fields in front of Kensico Dam and two figures disembark. The TACT team had assembled and was currently in route to join them, thirty minutes out. It wasn't fast enough. Kilmer could be gone by then.

"The helicopter is ready," Delia announced.

"Is the desktop unit loaded?"

"Yes," Delia confirmed. "Hargrove is with it and waiting for us."

"Good," York nodded. He signaled one of the trailing agents. "Informed the Director that I'm on my way."

"Sir," the agent nodded, quickly removing his CIA-issued cellphone and making the notification.

"What's our ETA?" he asked.

"Once aboard, twenty minutes," she said. "Special Agent Carl Villante of the Attorney-General's Task Force will be there to greet us upon arrival. He'll take us directly to the AG and Director Reynolds."

"Good, good," he nodded, striding ahead as Delia opened the door for him.

A black sedan was waiting for them, idling at the curb. Another agent rushed forward to open the door for him. York climbed in and nodded to Delia.

"You've done good work."

"Just see that this things finished, sir."

He let out a sharp chuckle and inclined his head. "I will."

Delia closed the door for him and York signaled the driver. The car pulled away from the Langley headquarters of the CIA and headed towards a private, off the grid airfield the Agency used for clandestine missions. He looked down at the phone in his hand, staring at the satellite image of the Kensico Dam. He had to trust Castle to do his part, while he dealt with the Justice Department. And if they were lucky, the Consortium would soon be no more.

XXX

_72%..._

_ 73%..._

_ 74%..._

He watched as the loading bar continued to move across the screen. A pleased grin worked its way across his face when the download hit 75 percent. Only a quarter left. It shouldn't be long now. Soon they'd have all of Operation Mongoose's files on the Consortium and associated outfits, including all known agents and assets. Kilmer stepped back from the computer console when Elena Markov pushed through the door. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he noticed the slight limp to her step.

"Where's Piotr?" he demanded.

"Dead," she hissed out, running a hand down her face as she stopped by one of the work stations and sat on the edge of the desk. "Castle killed him."

"And Beckett?"

"Still alive, last I saw," she said, rubbing a hand down her toned thigh. "Jackson Hunt." She cursed under her breath. "The old bastard has some moves. You underestimated him."

Kilmer gritted his teeth, turning away and moving back towards the download station. Bitch. He should have gone himself. It had been a mistake to trust others. Now the plan was unraveling. Fast. "We don't have much time until they come for us."

"No shit," Elena snapped.

He craned his neck around and glared at her. "You were supposed to be the best."

"I thought that was you," she quipped back, arching an eyebrow.

"We don't have time for—"

The power and lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

XXX

Castle waited at the corner, back pressed to the wall, SIG Sauer drawn and ready. Beckett was right next to him, leaning her shoulder against the wall. A bruise had already started to display around her throat from where that massive brute had choked her. Her voice was still a little raw, but the fierce resolve in her eyes didn't waver. He trusted her, and there was no one else he'd rather have by his side before heading into battle.

He checked his watch. Jackson Hunt should be at the control room any minute now. The power would soon be out and they'd have a limited window of time to get the drop on Kilmer, which wasn't an easy task.

"What's the plan?" Danberg asked. The other agent was perched on the opposite side of the juncture, keeping an eye on the entrance of the operations center.

He glanced between Beckett and Danberg. "You two take Elena," he said. "Kilmer's mine."

"Castle," Beckett drawled out his name.

He tilted his head to look at her. "I need to do this, Kate," he insisted. "After everything he's done… I have to."

She swallowed, and he followed the bobbing motion of her bruised throat as she did so. Her eyes shone with understanding, and she inclined her head.

"Okay," she conceded. "Just… Rick…"

He silenced her with a look. "I know." And then, because he didn't know what would happen next, Castle reached up with his free hand and cupped her beautiful face in his hand. He stared deeply into her gorgeous hazel eyes. "I love you."

"I love you," she echoed, voice thick with the emotion.

Castle pressed forward and kissed her, not holding back, letting all his love and passion for this extraordinary woman flow into the embrace. She kissed him back, nipping and sucking on his bottom lip before he could pull back. Her fingertips trailed along the side of his face and she stared at him, as if she were taking a mental picture in her head.

And then the lights went out.

XXX

She followed behind him, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping her Glock. Danberg was ahead of them, pushing the now unlocked security door open. They swung into the room, weapons raised. She went low. Castle went high. The emergency lights barely illuminated the operations center, but Kilmer was no way in sight. Neither was Elena Markov.

"Where are they?" Danberg asked, cautiously stepping further into the command center.

The overhead light fixtures flickered and the backup power kicked in, ten seconds earlier than they'd been expecting, flooding the room in light.

"Here!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, Kilmer appeared right next to Danberg. He sucker punched the agent, sending him to the floor, adding a vicious kick to the head, knocking him unconscious.

"Behind me," Castle ordered, moving to step between Beckett and the grinning psycho.

Kilmer strolled out into the center aisle, appraising them with wide eyes that held a crazy gleam to them. His lips pursed in a devious smirk and he cocked his head, gaze shifting from Castle to her.

"Detective Beckett, it's a pleasure," he greeted, sounding anything but.

Castle aimed his SIG Sauer. "It's over, Ray," he asserted. "Surrender."

"Oh, really, are you sure?" taunted Kilmer.

Beckett frowned. Where was Elena? She was about to point this out to Castle when the woman appeared from the side, perfectly flanking them, her Beretta aimed directly at Beckett's head.

"Drop your weapons," she commanded.

Kilmer smiled. "Do it," he instructed. "Or… are you afraid you can't take me without it?" He raised his fist. "Just you and me, Rick. Come on. One on one. Mano a Mano."

Beckett squeezed Castle's arm. "Don't."

But he wasn't listening. Damn him and his stubborn pride. Kilmer knew just what buttons to push.

Castle tossed his SIG Sauer. "Kate."

"No," she shook her head. "Castle, this is insane."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "It's the only way," he asserted.

Kilmer bounced on his feet in front of them, moving around like a boxer preparing for a prize match. "You should listen to him, Detective," he said.

Elena moved closer, narrowing her eyes, just begging her to try something. Beckett let out a defeated sigh and dropped her Glock to the floor, not at all happy about it. Elena immediately moved in, grabbing her arm and pressing the barrel of her Beretta into her side.

"Now we have a captive audience," Kilmer pumped his fists, like he was locking and loading them. He grinned wickedly. "Now, shall we dance?"

Castle let out a roar and launched himself at the villain. Kilmer dodged the first strike, laughing like a maniac as Castle stumbled. He quickly regained his equilibrium in time to raise an arm to deflect Kilmer's upper cut. It opened a small window for Castle, who seized it without hesitation. He jabbed his left fist into Kilmer's side. However, the blow didn't produce the desired effect. All the psycho did was laugh. Kilmer plowed a fist into Castle's stunned face, sending him flying back into a row of computers, knocking the flat screen monitors to the floor.

Kilmer stalked forward, gripping the back of a chair and flinging it out of his way.

"This should be fun," Elena cooed into her ear, ramming the barrel harder into her side.

Beckett gritted her teeth, loathing being helpless to do anything but watch as Kilmer steamrolled towards the man she loved. Dazed, Castle fumbled up from the cold floor, but was too late to stop the Knave from pounding a fist into his face. Castle dropped to the ground again.

"Come on, Rick!" Kilmer mocked. "Stop holding back. Show your girl what your made of!"

Groaning, Castle stumbled back up to his feet, and swung his arm wildly. Kilmer easily dodged the blow, grinning and laughing. Castle grabbed a keyboard off one of the work stations and flung it at Kilmer. He caught it and threw it to the ground. Castle staggered back, spitting blood from his mouth. His face hardened and he glared at his attacker.

"You know, this is kind of hot, isn't it?" Elena asked in a mocking tone.

Beckett clenched her jaw. "Yeah, well, I'm not watching from the sidelines," she hissed out, and then jabbed her elbow back into Elena. The assassin let out startled gasp and her grip on Beckett's arm loosened, allowing her to yank it free. She spun around and struck an open palm up into Elena's face, knocking the woman off balance. With another swipe, Beckett sent the Beretta clattering to the floor. She stood back and raised a hand.

"How about _we_ dance?" Beckett asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

Elena snarled and rubbed a hand along her bruised jaw, glaring daggers at her. "Bitch."

"Right back atcha," she lobbed back as she raised her fists.

XXX

Castle couldn't help but grin when he spotted his girlfriend free herself from Elena's hold and knock the woman back. That was his girl. She was a fighter. He trusted her to hold her own against the assassin. He had to, because he couldn't afford to divide his attention. Licking his bloodied lip, Castle redirected his focus on the man barreling towards him, intent on doing better than he did last time they faced off in London. He hadn't faired too well so far, but that was just warm up.

It was now time for the main event.

Kilmer raised his right arm and swung at his face. Castle brought both arms up, deflecting the attack down. Lifting his arms up fast, he struck Kilmer in the chin, causing the villain to jerk backwards. He immediately followed that up with a swift punch to the face, but Kilmer blocked the blow with his arm. The Knave pumped his left fist up and jabbed it hard into Castle's face.

He staggered back, caught off guard by the hit. Kilmer grinned, and took advantage, pummeling him hard in the kidneys. Castle stumbled back, gasping, holding up an arm to ward off the next blow, but Kilmer just kept coming at him.

XXX

She got in the first initial strikes, but without much force as she'd wished. Elena's surprised had been her only advantage, and once that shock wore off, which was quickly, Beckett's attack stalled almost instantly.

Elena moved fast, grabbing Beckett by the arm and swinging her around until she struck the wall. She coughed out a lungful of air, and shook her head, stunned. Elena rammed a fist into her lower back, causing her to cry out. She stifled the sharp burst of pain, and kicked out, catching the assassin's right knee.

Freed, Beckett pivoted around and swung high. Elena jumped back, and she only managed a glancing blow. Teeth clenched, Beckett threw herself at the other woman, using all her training in hand to hand combat, but it was difficult. Elena Markov was highly skilled. She thwarted her attacks easily, chuckling lightly as Beckett grunted and cursed.

They danced around each other as the men battled down the center aisle. Beckett tried to concentrate on her own fight, but it was difficult when she caught sight of Kilmer pummeling Castle.

XXX

A fist met his face and he stumbled back, dazed. He worked his jaw, and he tasted blood. Kilmer's eyes looked dead, devoid of emotion. He was like a machine. He kept working Castle hard, following up the blow to the head with a strong sucker punch, knocking the air from his lungs. Castle couldn't hold up under such punishment, not for long.

Kilmer rained down a series of strikes that had him lurching unsteadily back, turning and exposing his vulnerable side. Kilmer reared back and kicked him, sending him colliding into a row of computer stations.

The monitors clattered to the floor, cracking and shattering. Castle fumbled around in the wreckage, willing himself back up to his feet as Kilmer continued to stalk forward, his eyes as black as death's.

XXX

Beckett wobbled back after a series of blows to her sternum. She swung her arm out blindly, meeting only air. Elena bounced back, laughing lightly, as if they were playing a game.

"You shouldn't let yourself get distracted, Detective," she taunted, wagging a disapproving finger at her.

Glaring across at the other woman, Beckett launched forward and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing the rounded bone. Elena gripped her shoulders in return and the two women wrestled for dominance. Beckett gritted her teeth, flexing her muscles, straining against the pressure building between them. They moved around, pirouetting in place, like in a dance, each trying to shove the other away.

Seeing an opening, Beckett lifted one leg and hooked it around the other woman's leg and, using her momentum, pulled them both to the floor.

XXX

Castle let out a roar and swung high, aiming for his opponent's brow, but Kilmer parried the strike, pounding a hard fist into his right side again. A sharp flash of pain ran through his body, and he clenched his teeth, hissing through the ache. He had little time to recover, as Kilmer punched him in the chest, send him staggering backwards.

Breathing through his opened mouth, Castle brought his arms up to fend off the next series of blows, trying in vain to cease the barrage of hits. Somehow, he didn't know how, he blocked and locked Kilmer's left fist in a hold. The fiend's eyes snapped wide, and he growled angrily. Castle brought his left hand up and swung at the man's face, but Kilmer grabbed his fist, halting the strike in mid-motion.

Force met an immovable wall.

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Castle could see the flames of insanity in his adversary's eyes. Whatever part of Raymond Kilmer was still human, it was buried too deep to ever surface again. They struggled, muscle against muscle. Castle could feel his biceps burn from it. He clenched his jaw and, in a flash of brilliant insight, relaxed his arm. Kilmer had been propelling so much force into holding Castle's fist back that when his resistance disappeared, the momentum carried him forward, upsetting his balance.

Castle attacked him with an upper cut to the jaw, and then a quick strike to the nose, further knocking Kilmer off balance. He jabbed his elbow hard into Kilmer's clavicle. They shifted around, both a little off kilter, and Castle tried to wrap Kilmer's head up in choke hold, but Kilmer spun out of it, and with a snarl, the fiend headbutted him. Blood trickled from Kilmer's nose, but the man didn't even seem to notice.

"Fun, isn't it!" Kilmer grinned, teeth bloody, eyes wide and crazed.

XXX

They wrestled around on the floor, bumping into work stations, knocking pencils, pens, and papers to the floor. The light humor Elena had displayed earlier had vanished, replaced with a grudging respect and growing displeasure. Beckett had surprised her with her skill, which she took some pride in. But she wasn't too prideful to believe she could last much longer.

Elena tore her arm free of Beckett's grasp and jabbed her in the face. Within moments, Elena was twisting around on the floor, legs swinging up in the air as she spun. Strong, muscular thighs locked around Beckett's throat and squeezed hard. Beckett gasped, clawing at Elena's legs. Once again, she found herself struggling to breathe.

"Relax," Elena instructed. "Just go to sleep."

Beckett slapped at the strong legs wrapped around her head, arching her back off the ground as she flailed around. Dark spots started to appear in her vision as Elena tightened her legs like a vise. She was choking, straining to remain conscious. She flung one hand out, pounding the ground with her opened palm, as if she could tap out, signal surrender, but Elena wasn't going to budge.

Her fingers curled, spasming, as she felt her final resolve start to drain away. Beckett slapped her hand against the floor, willing the rough scrape of her smooth palm against the concrete to keep her nerves stimulate and awake. And then her fingers alighted upon a smooth surface, and she pulled it into her hand, gripped. She had a vague sense of what it was, but most of her coherent thoughts were fading.

On pure instinct, she raised her hand up, hooked her finger along the trigger, and fired.

XXX

The fight was dragging on for too long. He was tiring while Kilmer seemed to be catching his second wind. Castle attempted to hit his solar plexus, but Kilmer blocked the strike and proceeded to bombard him with a series of roundhouse punches to the chest.

And then a shot rang out, almost deafening in the enclosed underground room. Kilmer stalled long enough for Castle to ram his knee into the man's gut. Using his opponent's brief hinderance, Castle swept a terrified and worried gaze back towards the entrance of the operations center.

The two brunette women were tangled on the floor. One was sputtering, blood gushing from a wound in her middle. The other was forcibly yanking the legs wrapped around her neck away. He let out a shaky breath of relief when Kate Beckett stood up on trembling legs, chest heaving. Her eyes found his and she managed weak smile.

He smiled back, but then frowned, seeing her expression change.

"Castle!"

He turned around to see Kilmer unsheathe a knife.

"You're dead, Rick!" the Knave snarled.

"Castle!" Beckett screamed.

He felt the blade pierce his skin. A strangled gasp escaped his mouth as he stared into the crazed eyes of his attacker.

"Your bitch cop's next!" Kilmer pulled the blade out and Castle dropped to his knees, sputtering. "But first, I'm going to—"

Blood and flesh exploded as a series a bullets penetrated Kilmer's chest and torso. The fiend let out a wild cry and stumbled back, but he didn't fall. He stood there, eyes still wide, crazed. He wobbled for a second, clutching the dagger in his hand.

"You… you're dead," he spit out, raising the knife for another blow.

But another blast struck him in the neck and then face. And he was gone. The bloody flesh that had been Raymond Kilmer collapsed backwards with a resounding, definitive thud.

Castle sucked in a ragged breath, pressing a hand to his stomach where the blade had pierced him. With trembling eyes, he glanced up to see an avenging warrior, glorious and beautiful. Her eyes were gleaming with a fierce, unrelenting determination. Her hand shook and she lowered the gun, letting it clatter noisily to the floor.

"Castle!?" she cried, rushing down the center aisle. She skidded to a halt once she reached him and Kilmer. Her eyes went wide as she took in the bloody sight of her wrath.

His lips quirked up in a tremulous smile. "You did it, sweet cheeks."

She dropped before him, reaching out to gripped his face. A watery chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Don't call me that," she said, eyes flowing with tears. "You know how much I hate it."

"Do not," he insisted, fighting back a grimace. "You love it. Like you love me."

"Oh, Rick," she sighed, voice wavering.

"I'm okay," he assured. "Just…"

A hunched figure with a stock of white hair appeared from the entrance of the operations center, slipping in quietly, yet with dignity and authority. Jackson Hunt.

"Backup will be here soon," he announced as he walked over to join them. He glanced at Beckett and then at Castle. He placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Help's on the way, son."

Castle nodded. Jackson Hunt squeezed his shoulder one more time and an expression akin to paternal pride briefly flashed across the old man's face before he moved away to check on Danberg, who was starting to come to. Castle was too exhausted and muddled to think too much on that. He shifted his attention back to the teary eyed woman before him. He hissed out a breath and pressed his palm harder against the wound.

"Rick?" she gasped, placing her hand over his, helping to hold him together. Blood slowly trickled out between the seam of their fingers. He could see the terrified gleam in her eyes, the fright and panic. He wanted nothing more than to reassure her. She'd been through too much already. He didn't want to add to her troubles.

"No, no, it's okay, I'm good," Castle promised. "I've had worse, believe me."

"It doesn't look good," she argued.

He shook his head, feeling a light sheen of perspiration on his brow, knowing she was right. It wasn't good. Not good at all. Beckett looked at him with watery eyes.

"It's over," he told her, gazing at her with unbridled love and adoration. Even now, when he was in tremendous pain, all he could think about was her. God, he loved her so much. His entire world was nothing without her. He didn't want to spend another moment of his life that didn't involve her. "You did that. You. Kate Beckett." He licked his lips and swallowed, suppressing the throbbing ache in his abdomen. His eyes flirted shakily down to her lips, before lazily returning up to meet her anxious gaze. "You. You're extraordinary."

"Castle. No… _we_. _We_ did it. _We_. _We_ did it."

He opened his mouth to protest, but held his tongue upon the look in her eyes. Yeah. They did it. Together. Instead, he opted to voice a different behest.

"Kiss me," he requested. "Kiss me, Kate."

Beckett didn't argue with him then. She tenderly cupped his jaw in her free hand and kissed him as if it was the only thing she ever wanted to do.


	36. Chapter 35

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Chapter 35**_

* * *

He suppressed a grimace as he reached for the glass of water, the stitches across his upper abdomen pulling sharply at the movement. It wasn't something entirely new to him. Pain and recovery. Castle had received many injuries throughout his career as a CIA operative. The countless scars littering his body a testament to that fact. Each with their own story. He thought briefly about the story this new scar would tell.

He'd given his all in fighting Raymond Kilmer, using all his training and willpower, but in the end he hadn't been the one to kill him. No. That honor belonged to Kate Beckett. But the only reason that it had been necessary for her to pull the trigger and put an end to that monster was because of him. He had allowed himself to become distracted in the midst of a fiery combat. The moment of emotional diversion had nearly killed him. That sort of lapse in judgment had never happened to him before.

They were right about him.

When it came to Kate Beckett, he was compromised.

But was that such a bad thing?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

It was all a matter of opinion.

Yet, as he sat there, sipping the water, a delaying tactic, Rick Castle started to see things from their point of view.

There had already been a discussion—that was a polite way to put it—on why Detective Kate Beckett had even been there, in a classified CIA facility. Oh yes, they were angry about that. Fiercely. Director Samson York had to step in, assuring the rest that the detective had agreed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. But still, they were displeased that a NDA even had to be necessary. However, the end result, the death of the man who had assassinated Vice President Russell, had mollified some of that displeasure.

The whole affair would, of course, be covered up. An appropriate cover story was already being generated. The public didn't need to know the full story. That was why this was a closed hearing. The Senate Select Committee on Intelligence had only just been briefed on the matter, and the committee members were demanding an official inquiry. They'd all expected it. CIA Director Joseph Reynolds had turned up his Southern charm to convince the committee chairman and leading members to allow the Agency to handle the initial inquiries, which hadn't been an easy task, especially when it was discovered just how compromised Langley had been. Now it was the committee's turn to ask questions.

For his part, Castle had already made his decision. He'd made it back in the Bunker as he assured Kate Beckett that he was okay and had asked her to kiss him. It wasn't a rash or hasty decision. No. It had been percolating in his brain for the better part of a year. In the end, he realized it had only been a matter of time.

Castle finished take a sip of water, and placed the glass back down, folding his hands before him on the table as he gazed across the room at the dour faced men and women all staring at him expectantly.

He wet his lips and began his testimony.

XXX

Castle exited the hearing chamber, looking down and fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. He loosened the tie around his neck, tugging it from the collar and rolling it into a ball, tucking it into his pocket. Glancing up, he found Martin Danberg standing by a bench in the empty hall, looking at ease in his suit. His friend was better at politics than he was. Castle took a moment to appraise him. He had stitches across his forehead, along with a black eye, but the puffiness had faded over the last three days. The other bumps and bruises he'd sustained during Kilmer's incursion were healing nicely.

"How was it?" Danberg inquired.

He shrugged. "As pleasant as such things can be," Castle relayed. "I'm glad to be out of it, that's for sure."

Danberg inclined his head in agreement. "Did you go through with it?" he asked after a brief lull.

"Yes," Castle said.

"Any second thoughts?"

"None," Castle answered without hesitation. "It was time."

Danberg seemed to understand. "Have you told Beckett?"

He shook his head. "Her focus was needed elsewhere."

The doors to the hearing chamber opened, and Director Samson York appeared. He looked at the two and sighed.

"You sure I can't talk you out of this, Castle?" he questioned.

"Positive, sir," Castle said. Then added, upon seeing the crestfallen look on the man's face. "I'm sorry."

Samson York had been like a father to him. He had recruited Castle out of college into the CIA, trained and molded him. But no one in the Agency understood Castle's reasons more than York. The older man simply nodded, scrubbing a hand over his balding crown.

"No need," he assured. "You've sacrificed enough to earn this." He extended a hand. "It's been a honor, Richard."

His heart clenched, and he sucked in a breath before taking York's proffered hand. "No, sir," he asserted, eyes a little misty. "The honor was all mine."

The two men shook hands, and then York bobbed his head and gestured towards Danberg. "The committee is ready to hear from you now."

Danberg nodded, and exchanged one final look with Castle, before following Director York through the doors and into the closed hearing chamber. Castle took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets as he sauntered down the hall, towards the large, opened central atrium of the Hart Senate Office Building. As he strolled around the large sculpture by Alexander Calder, _Mountains and Clouds_, which dominated a significant portion of the atrium, he pulled the TCD-74 out of his pocket and checked for messages. Just as expected, he found one from her, informing him of her itinerary. Seeing it, he shifted his wrist to check the time on his watch.

"Shouldn't you turn that back to requisitions?"

Startled, he jerked his head up, searching for the source of the familiar voice. There, standing in the shadows created by the gigantic sculpture, was Agent Jackson Hunt. He was dressed in a suit, arm still in a sling. The older man stepped out to join him.

"Huh?"  
"The TCD-74," Hunt gestured with his chin. "That's Company property."

Castle pressed his lips in a thin smirk. "I thought I'd keep it," he announced, flipping the device shut and pocketing it.

Hunt offered a half smile, and inclined his head. "You are your mother's son," he professed.

Castle eyes narrowed.

The senior agent grew somber and serious. His eyebrows knitted together and he glanced down, thoughtful. Dragging his eyes back up, Castle noticed a strange shift in the man's demeanor.

"I feel like I should tell you this, now that you've resigned," Hunt said, pausing for a second before continuing after a long breath. "I am your father."

Castle blinked. "You?"

"Yes," Hunt nodded. "I was on an undercover assignment the night I met Martha Rodgers. It was just one night. A hell of a night. But just one night."

"Yet you knew… and you did nothing."

"It wasn't as if I loved the woman," Hunt defended. "It was just sex, my boy. That's all. You know how it is. You can't tell me you haven't enjoyed the company of a woman during an operation for the same reasons. Believe me, I know. I've seen your file. I was like you once, son. Young and reckless. And as a result, an accident happened."

Castle felt his blood boil at his conception being referred to in such a callous, cold manner. But then the rage simmered down as he remembered his childhood. It was challenging at times, yes, but Martha Rodgers did the best she could, and she never once treated him like a mistake, always letting him know that he was wanted and loved.

"I never wanted to be a father," Hunt continued. "Still don't. I'm not asking for a relationship, Rick. I just thought it was time you knew the truth."

"Kilmer knew," Castle said after a beat. "He taunted me with it. Said the only reason I was recruited was because of who my father was."

Hunt grunted. "That's partly true," he admitted. "But you're your own man. Something you've proven time after time. And no. York didn't know until after he'd recruited you. You've turned into a damn fine agent, albeit with the occasional lapses, but overall, yes, a damn fine agent. I take some pride in that, at least, even if I never had hand in molding you."

"No," Castle concurred. "No. You didn't. You were simply the sperm donor."

"A crude way to put it," Hunt scoffed. "But accurate, I suppose."

Castle furrowed his brow as he considered the man standing before him. He could see it now, in the face, the similarities. His eyes skimmed up to the thick stock of white hair.

"Well, at least I know I won't go bald," he half chuckled.

Hunt merely stood there, unamused.

"I'd ask you to reconsider resigning, but I already know it would be futile. You've made your decision."

"As you said," Castle lobbed back. "I'm my own man."

"That you are," Hunt concurred. "Still. I think it's a mistake. A waste of good training. You may be insubordinate and reckless at times, but York is right when he says you're a great agent."

Castle just stared at him, appalled. "That's all I am to you, an asset?"

Hunt raised a surprised eyebrow. "Of course," he confirmed, as if it was obvious. "As I said, I never wanted to be a father."

"Then why the paternal advice?"

He received a blank stare.

"Operation Looking Glass. After the inquiry? You told me to, and I quote, _follow your heart_," Castle reminded.

Hunt worked his jaw before he spoke. "Despite my disinterest in fatherhood, you were still my son," he said.

"Then what changed?" Castle demanded. "You went from telling me to _follow your heart_ to saying my relationship with Kate was damaging and should be terminated."

"Because it was," Jackson Hunt asserted, his conviction in that statement remaining strong. "Look what happened to you. You became distracted by her presence, worried about her welfare, and it made you vulnerable. Opened you up to attack. You have a new scar because of her."

"No," Castle ground out through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare blame her." He seethed. "Yes, I got distracted, but she's not the one who stabbed me. That's not on her. Ray Kilmer holds the blame. Not her. And he's dead. Or did you forget that? She's the one who shot him."

"She shouldn't have even been there."

"But she was."

"Only because you brought her," Hunt said, then held up a conciliatory hand to halt the argument. "Look, you're a good agent, Castle. Very good. And resigning like this, for her… it's a mistake. A waste of potential. And you know that. Deep down, you know. You'll end up regretting it. And then you'll end up resenting her because of it."

Castle shook his head, disgusted. "I'll always just be an asset to you," he repeated.

Hunt squinted his eyes, eyes so much like his own that it repulsed him. "Yes," he answered without pause or consideration. Honest. The truth.

Castle grunted, having expected as much. He stared into the eyes of Jackson Hunt, his father, and felt nothing. The only thing that linked them was shared DNA. Nothing more. Nothing less. Oddly enough, it strengthened his resolve, affirming that he had made the right decision.

"Okay," he said, meeting the other man's gaze. "Then I don't have a father. And you know what? That's just fine. Because, I don't want to be like you. I don't want to make the same mistakes." He clenched his jaw and raised his chin. "Now, if you excuse me, I have a previous engagement to attend."

And with that said, he turned on his heel and strolled out of the atrium without a backwards glance.

XXX

She stood just outside the conference room in the Russell Senate Office Building, as per Agent McCord's instructions. They were waiting for the Capitol Police to arrive, as well as word from Special Agent Carl Villante of the Attorney-General's Special Task Force. It had been decided that they would synchronize the arrests. If everything went as planned, by the end of the day, the Consortium's leadership would be in custody and the FBI, along with their colleagues in the CIA, could begin dismantling the clandestine organization.

Beckett glanced down at her hands, and was pleased to find they'd stopped trembling. She heaved in a deep breath and blinked slowly, still remembering the feel of Castle's blood spilling out between her fingers as she pressed her palm to the knife wound in his abdomen. The three days since then had been a blur. The CIA TACT team had arrived minutes later, whisking them away, back to facilities in Langley. Kilmer's body had been bagged and tagged. She didn't know where they took it, and honestly she didn't care.

Elena Markov was a different story. She'd taken a bullet to the lower torso, and lost a lot of blood, but the gunshot hadn't been fatal. Beckett didn't know what became of the assassin. Presumably she was treated and tended to before being taken to some black site where she could be questioned and interrogated. Hopefully some good would come of that, but Beckett wasn't holding out any hopes.

While she waited at the hospital for Castle to come out of surgery, CIA officers had approached her with a request to sign multiple non-disclosure agreements. It was much like what they'd asked her to sign after the whole Sophia Turner and Spyglass affair, back when she first met Castle. She read through the documents, and signed them, which seemed to make Agent Jackson Hunt happy. He hadn't spoken with her, but she saw him accepting the signed documents from the officers who'd collected them. He'd stared at her for a long beat and nodded in approval.

She hadn't seen him since.

Once Castle was in recovery, Beckett had stayed by his side, keeping him company until Martha and Alexis arrived. Once all the reunions had settled down, she made her excuses and stepped out to contact Agent McCord to see how things were going with gaining warrants of arrest for Bracken. That was when she'd learned of the developments that occurred while they were in the Bunker.

CIA computer analysts Vikram Singh and Grant Riley had dug into ADD Dan Kovaks's computer and found files buried deep in the hard drive that contained information on almost all the members of the Board, the leadership of the Consortium. Apparently, Kovaks hadn't trusted them that much and held onto that information as potential blackmail material. Well, now Main Justice and the FBI were going to use it to bring those individuals into custody. The President had been brought into the loop by CIA Director Joseph Reynolds and the Attorney-General. And under the President's directive, it had been decided to coordinate all the arrests at the same time to avoid any leaks or escapes.

Beckett had been fine with the delay. While normally she'd have been itching to slap the cuffs on Bracken immediately once the threat posed by Kilmer was gone, with Castle injured, she didn't want to leave his side until the doctors released him from the hospital. So she spent the next two days with him and his family—_their_ family, as he corrected her often—before heading to Washington, D.C. and meeting with Agent McCord at the FBI Headquarters to discuss how Senator Bracken would be brought in.

"Can I ask a favor?" Beckett had asked, after the briefing.

"No need," McCord had said, giving her a knowing look. "Castle already called in and made the request, and Special Agent Villante approved. It's your collar."

"Thank you."

"You deserve it," the other woman had said. "And I'm sorry."

"About?"

McCord seemed reluctant to explain further, clearly not comfortable with admitting her mistakes. "About your relationship with Agent Castle. I was imposing my own experiences onto yours. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Beckett had looked at her for a long beat, before smiling. "Apology accepted."

Now, she stood there, waiting to make the biggest arrest of her life. The only thing she'd change was having Castle by her side, but he was facing a reckoning of his own with the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence over in the Hart Senate Office Building. She worried about him, knowing how much he despised the bureaucracy. Thankfully both Agent Martin Danberg and Director Samson York were there, so hopefully they'd keep him from making any mistakes he'd later regret.

The echo of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts. She glanced up to see a phalanx of uniformed Capitol Police led by Agent Rachel McCord in the front. The FBI agent greeted Beckett with a smile, and then glanced down at her phone as it buzzed. Becket took in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself. This was a moment she'd thought and dreamed about for nearly all her adult life. There was a time she'd thought she would never achieve this victory, finding justice for her mother, but despite all the harrowing events she'd been through, here she was, on the threshold of her goal.

"It's time," McCord announced, glancing up from her phone. She looked towards the uniformed officers and nodded. Two of them stepped forward and opened the doors to the conference room.

After a gesture from McCord, Beckett took the lead and entered. The room was full of reporters and cameras. Bracken was seated in a chair, opposite a high profile on-air reporter from one of the major networks, being interviewed. Beckett held back, eyes narrowed as she watched the exchange as it was filmed.

"Senator, why do you want to be president?" the reporter asked.

"Well it's simple, Nadine," Bracken said, smiling with that fake politician smile he'd perfected over the years. "I'm tired. The backroom deals, the corruption, the waste. I'm exhausted, frankly, and I know the American people are, too. Look, this country deserves a leader who won't back—"

Beckett took a moment to collect herself and find her inner calm, and then she made her move. Slow and deliberate, she started to march through the sea of cameras and reporters. Bracken spotted her almost immediately and her sudden presence threw him off his game, making him lose his train of thought. He blinked rapidly, put his fake smile back on and dragged his eyes off her, returning his attention to Nadine.

"—who—who won't fight—back down from a fight," he corrected himself. "Who has a proven record of taking on the special interests and believes a government can still be a force for good. These are that—I'm… I'm sorry. I'm—I'm going to have to cut this short."

Beckett didn't even stop to acknowledge the interview being held. She walked straight into the space being filmed, heading straight for the man who'd ordered the death of her mother… and her. Bracken, completely caught off guard by her intrusion into his filmed interview, stood up.

"Senator, is everything okay?" Nadine asked, glancing back at her cameraman with a confused look before she spotted Beckett. She made a quick gesture and the cameraman turned the camera up to capture the confrontation.

Bracken stared at her for a long beat, the internal battle raging inside him evident in his eyes as his gaze locked with hers. "You can't—you can't be here," he muttered, the statement was directed at her but sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that what he was seeing wasn't real.

Beckett didn't flinch under his gaze. She stood there, tall and proud, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The emotions were almost overwhelming. But she locked them down, falling back on her training, letting it guide her.

"I found the tape," she spoke in a low voice. His jaw dropped, and the terror was clear in his eyes. "I found it," she repeated. "It's over."

Realization slowly dawned on Bracken as Beckett removed the handcuffs from her belt and held them up. She stared at him, wanting him to see—to know—that it was her, Katherine Houghton Beckett, who brought him down. And that there was nowhere for him to go. His downfall was completely public.

"Senator William Bracken," she announced in a loud clear voice, well aware of the cameras and microphones pointing in her direction, capturing the moment for the whole world to see. "You are under arrest for conspiracy, fraud," she paused, letting this last one sink in, "and the murder of my mother, Johanna Beckett."

Bracken just stood there, stunned. He glanced over her shoulder, seeing the Capital Police behind her, with Agent McCord and several other FBI agents also waiting. Slowly, his eyes shifted back to her.

"Turn around, please," she muttered, utterly formal.

And he did, after a reluctant glance around at the reporters and cameras, but he did. He turned around, head dropping in defeat or shame… or both. Beckett released a shaky breath as she clasped the handcuffs onto his wrists. This was it. She'd finally done it. She'd finally got justice for her mother. Her quest was finally over.

XXX

She led him down the front steps of the Russell Senate Office Building, swarmed by reporters and cameras. Capitol Police worked to clear a path as they marched down the stone steps, towards the awaiting patrol car. Out of the corner of her eyes, Beckett caught sight of a lone figure standing off to the side, watching the proceedings with silent pride. She didn't need to look to know who it was. Castle. She was glad he made it.

"Clear the way," McCord ordered as they were pressed in from all sides.

Beckett kept her face clear of emotion as the uniforms moved ahead, making space for them to descend the steps. Bracken remained silent as he was bombarded with questions and demands from the press. She pursed her lips and suppressed a smile, taking some satisfaction in the momentary flash of defeat that appeared on his face before he could mask it. He knew it was over. Once she confronted him, face to face, in front of all those cameras, he knew.

The uniformed officers held back the press as she and her prisoner reached the sidewalk. There Agent Matt Hendricks waited with two other agents.

"We'll take it from here," he offered, accepting the handcuffed senator from her and escorted him towards the awaiting patrol car, where he was loaded into the backseat. The cameras continued to roll and flash. Senator Bracken was getting the full treatment.

Aware of Castle's close presence, Beckett took a few steps away from the scene, watching as Bracken was carted off. When the police car disappeared around the corner, the reporters and cameras turned towards her, shouting questions. McCord stepped in and grabbed the spotlight.

"A formal statement will be made later today by the Attorney-General," McCord announced, holding up her hands to gain the attention of the press. "Until then, please clear the sidewalk." She gestured to the remaining uniformed officers, who proceeded to redirect the press back into the building.

McCord turned towards Beckett, head bowed as she checked her phone.

"Good news," she said, "Agent Stack just took Ben Moss into custody."

"Ben Moss?" Beckett furrowed her brow. "As in former Secretary of State Benjamin J. Moss?"

McCord inclined her head. "Pundits and talking heads called him the Kingmaker. He's always been a big player here in D.C., one of the party elders. But the documentation in the files Director York showed the President and AG proved without a doubt he was the Chairman of the Board."

"Wow," Beckett said, knitting her eyebrows together as she absorbed the news that a highly respected former Secretary of State, who'd had a hand in selecting a number of key government officials, had in all probability been the head of the evil cabal known as the Consortium. It was a lot to take in.

"Yeah," McCord agreed, shaking her head.

They stood there in silence for a beat, before the Federal agent extended a hand. Beckett took it and shook.

"Good work, Detective," she said.

"The same to you, Agent McCord," Beckett replied with gracious smile.

McCord nodded. "I still think you'd make a hell of an agent," she asserted. "But I know that's not what you want."

She glanced over her shoulder, at the man waiting for her, and then turned back with a soft smile. "I appreciate the offer, though," Beckett acknowledged with a nod.

McCord smiled back at her, and then turned, stalking over to join her partner. The two climbed into the idling Black Escalade and took off.

Finally alone, Beckett let out a long sigh and scrubbed a hand down her face, feeling all the emotions that she'd kept at bay slam into her like a ton of bricks.

"She's proud of you."

A familiar and comforting voice pulled her back. She felt his hand smooth down her back as he stepped into her personal space. Turning, she met his gaze and offered him a small smile. He narrowed his eyes, noting her restraint.

"She's proud of you," Castle repeated, confident in his assertion. "Wherever she is, she's proud."  
Beckett looked into his warm, loving eyes, and smiled again, this time less restrained, more open, allowing herself to celebrate her accomplishments. She pursed her lips and swallowed, staring up at the man she loved more than she ever thought herself capable of. He had been a surprise, tumbling into her life and turning it upside down. But in the most wonderful way. She looked at him, and she saw her everything. Kate Beckett saw her life: Past, present, future. And it was all with him.

She reached up and ran her fingers down the side of his face, eyes watery, full of adoration, mutual respect, and love. She wet her lips and met his proud gaze.

"I never could have done this without you, Rick," she asserted.

Castle wanted to object, she could tell, but he didn't. He just smiled at her. She smiled back, and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce embrace, burying her head in the crook of his neck and closing her eyes as she breathed in his comforting and familiar scent. There in his arms, she felt safe and sound. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of struggle and heartache, Kate Beckett found peace.


	37. Epilogue

**Private Eyes 3: You Know My Name**

* * *

_**Epilogue**_

* * *

_Now I'm rising from the ground  
__Rising up to you  
__Filled with all the strength I've found  
__There's nothing I can't do!  
_— John Newman, _Love Me Again_

* * *

_One Month Later_

* * *

It was a nice autumn day. Fall had finally arrived. The trees were all abloom in wonderful colors of oranges, browns, and reds. Dry leaves drifted and danced in the light breeze, blowing across the open grass hills and over the meandering pathways. He sat there, taking it all in, watching as couples took long, romantic strolls and young families enjoyed the season's changes. The last time he sat there it had been under difference circumstances, far dire to his current situation. He had sat at this bench and watched, with suspicious eyes, questioning everyone's presence in the park.

But all that was behind him.

It was a dawning of a new day, figuratively, and he was looking forward to the next horizon and the adventure that waited beyond.

He checked his wristwatch, noting that she was a few minutes late. Probably caught a case. He fingered the TCD-74 in his pocket, tempted to call and remind her of their lunch date, but decided to give her ten more minutes.

However, she didn't need that extra time, as he spotted her familiar form cresting the low hill, her long legs carrying her at a nice pace. He stood as she approached and her happy smile lighted up his whole world.

"Hey, Castle," she greeted, pushing up to meet his mouth for a lingering kiss.

"Remember this place?" he asked, as he grabbed her hands and pulled her down to sit down next to him on the bench.

"How could I forget?" she laughed lightly. "It all feels so cloak and dagger now."

Castle smiled, gazing at her with undisguised awe. She was so much more open and happy, freer than he'd ever seen her. It was beautiful. She caught him staring and ducked her head down, blushing slightly.

"Do you miss it?" she asked, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

"Huh?"

"The missions, the danger, the action, the travel, all that cloak and dagger?"

"No," he answered without hesitation, glancing at her with deep affection. He had no regrets resigning his position with the CIA. Yes, he missed his friends and colleagues, but when it all came down to it, this was what he wanted, a life with her, without any outside influence keeping them apart. "I've had enough of that life. I'm looking forward to the next chapter."

"Me too," she confessed with a bashful grin.

"So, how was your morning?" he asked, after a brief pause in the conversation, where they simply enjoyed the nice weather and the pleasant company. "Missed me?"

Two weeks ago, having grown bored sitting around in their Gramercy Park apartment alone during the day, Castle had showed up at the Twelfth Precinct on the pretense of bringing his girlfriend a grande skim latte, with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla. While delivering the coffee, he'd conveniently got a good look at the murder board set up across from her desk, and within minutes they were building theory and bantering. With his helpful insights, they had managed to wrap the case up by mid-afternoon, and the next day, Beckett was asking Gates's permission to have him come in to work a case, on occasion, as an expert consult, civilian. To both their immense surprise, Captain Gates had agreed, with the stipulation that they kept the PDA to a minimum. Since then, he'd spent quite a few days helping Beckett and her team out on a handful of cases.

"I missed the coffee, yes," she teased, flashing him a mischievous look.

Castle tilted his head and feigned a pout.

Beckett pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, then simply shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, we caught a case, but it isn't that difficult," she informed him. "We should have it closed by late afternoon."

"That's good," he said.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, smiling.

He was glad she still took pride in her work, found fulfillment in bringing justice to those left behind. There had been a period of adjustment once they'd returned to life in New York when he'd feared that now that she'd found justice for her mother that she'd lose her sense of purpose, but that never manifested, much to his relief.

"And how was your morning?" Beckett asked. "Did your meeting with Black Pawn go well?"

Castle snapped out of his daze, and bobbed his head. "They loved _Heat Wave_," he announced, grinning with glee. "I've already signed a three book deal."

Beckett clapped her hands and cupped his face, pressing a delighted kiss to his lips. "That's great, Rick!" she enthused, the excitement for him dancing in her eyes. "I told you they'd love it."

"Yes, you did," he beamed, slipping his hand down to her knee and squeezing. He had been anxious about the meeting, considering the last time he attempted to get published, both books had bombed in sales, but now, with Kate's support behind him, he felt more confident in the ability of his words to entertain and captivate. It didn't hurt that he had extraordinary inspiration. "But I couldn't have done it without my muse."

"Castle," she hushed, rolling her eyes.

He shook his head, forever baffled at her discomfort with the title. But that was okay. He was hoping she'd accept a different title soon.

"Do you know what today is?" he asked, gearing up to broach the topic.

Confused, she stared at him with an adorably wrinkled nose. "October 11th."

"Exactly!" he enthused with a grin. "On this day, one year ago, was when we first met. It also happened to be our first date."

Beckett cocked her head and offered him a mild form of her infamous glare. "As I recall, you pretended to be my blind date, and then vanished before the real guy showed up."

"I was utterly charming. Swept you right off your feet," he asserted with a smug smirk. "Besides, bet you're glad you got me instead of that other guy."

"Without a doubt," she grinned, remembering how the real Andrew Miller had been allergic to grapes, and thus couldn't consume wine, which was a big no. "However, if you want to be technical, we actually met on October 9th."

"Huh?"

"That's the day you bumped into me at the airport," Beckett reminded him. "And slipped that flash drive into my carry-on."

He grinned, delighted with her. "You remember that!?"

"Of course, don't you?" she challenged.

"Always."

She rolled her eyes at his sly grin. "All right, babe, what's the point?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Can it, buster," she poked him in the chest. "You brought up our first meeting for a reason, why?"

Sucking in deep breath, he gathered his courage and carefully slid off the bench, mindful of his bad knee as he slipped down onto bended knee before her. Beckett knitted her eyebrows together adorably, glancing around in bafflement, before gasping when he produced the ring.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett," Castle spoke with all the emotion he felt for this woman swelling up in his chest. "Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

She started at him for a long beat, eyes wide with shock, before she bolted up from her seat on the bench, jaw dropping. "Oh my God, oh my God, you're proposing!?" she shouted.

Castle stifled a joyous laugh. Her stunned and surprised expression was so adorable. He held up the sparkling diamond ring, gazed up at the love of his life and asked her again.

"Well, sweet cheeks? What do you say? Wanna get hitched?"

Her lips pressed together in a disapproving frown at the nickname she openly despised, but secretly loved. Her eyes started to water, glistening with tears of joy, as she bobbed her head, and held out her hand.

"Yes, yes, yes! Forever and always! Yes!" Beckett declared as he slid the ring onto her finger. "Yes, I will marry you, Richard Alexander Edgar Rodgers Castle."

Castle chuckled as he rose to his feet, clutching her hand in his. "My Detective," he praised, cupping her face in his right hand as he grinned, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the beauty mark on her cheek.

Beckett smiled back, all teeth and gum, utterly happy and in love. Her eyes dropped to the ring and then skipped back up to meet his loving gaze. "My Writer," she decreed with a beaming smile that filled him with so much joy.

And then he kissed her, his heart pounding with so much excitement for the next chapter in his life, free of any obligations except to those he loved. It would be a life where he was no longer alone, but united with the woman he loved, the love of his life. His always.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

_**Author's Note**__: Wow. I can't believe this is it. I've spent so long with this story, these characters, in this alternative universe. It was a long journey getting here, but I like how it turned out, even taking some twists and turns I hadn't expected. Thank you to all who read, took time to comment, favorite, and cheer me on. It has all been really appreciated. It was fun. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Once again, thank you. Until next time. :)_


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